Addhesions of Sentiment
by Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora
Summary: Erik goes missing one morning after the routine telepathic conversations with Charles after two months after Apocalypse's defeat. When the X-Men find Erik in Stryker's cells, he is devastated in body and mind. Charles takes it upon himself to heal his old friend, but when sentiment turns into something deeper, will the telepath be able to accept all that there is of Erik Lehnsherr?
1. Prologue

_Prologue  
_

It began as a morning correspondence.

Perhaps what Charles was doing was foolish. After all, Erik had declined to stay. He could still remember of how Erik had said goodbye. _"Good luck, Professor."_ It wasn't a tone that mocked Charles' ideals, repeating the same words that the telepathic mutant had heard so many times. It was…not any of those things. Instead, it seemed to almost acknowledge the hope and ideal that Charles hoped that mutants would, some day, believe in.

It was happening again. As it did every morning. Charles sometimes wondered why he was doing this. He was contacting Erik as if the past actions of the past twenty years had been washed away by the very beach that they had said their first goodbyes. Most of the students were afraid of the mutant known as Magneto, having heard from the older students of how he had almost assassinated the president ten years ago and aided Apocalypse in the ending of their world. _But in the end, Erik didn't._ Charles didn't correct his students when they referred to his old friend by his infamous alias, or discredit of them of their fears of the dark-haired mutant. They would understand Erik's heart in time. It seemed that Charles was unable to refer to his old friend by the codename that Raven, or Mystique, as she was known to her students, had given him so long ago. Magneto seemed to be…the embodiment of all the suffering that Erik – his dear friend, had experienced. _"There is good inside you, Erik. I felt it. More than just pain and anger."_ Charles had been happy at the sight of his friend, no longer wearing the helmet and wearing normal clothes. A part of the telepathic mutant wanted to watch Erik as he was like this, teaching Jean how to bend and lift the metal inside the school. Erik, the one man who Charles, in a fit a rage and betrayal, had said was a monster, had stayed to rebuild his school and hadn't left until it was finished.

That itself made Charles blissfully happy.

It seemed that his old friend was beginning to understand. Understanding what Charles had tried to teach him. And had even said that Charles was right; that he knew him.

 _Good morning, Erik._

Charles didn't know where his friend was; somewhere far away from Winchester. The telepathic mutant knew better than to ask where the metal-bender was. The inquiry would only cause Erik to reply that he didn't need Charles in his head. A small smile framed the face of Charles Xavier. Not once, since their correspondence, had Erik mentioned those words.

In fact, the first thoughts that came to Erik's mind was, _What do you want now, Charles?_

Charles understood that it was unlikely that his old friend would come back. Erik was too hard, too jaded to live life peacefully without a thought to the humans whom he perceived as a threat. The agony and the pure sorrow of his friend after his family was killed by the Polish authorities haunted Charles' mind. Now more than ever his friend would be on edge. Still, Charles missed his friend. Ten years without hearing his voice and without seeing him was enough to make the telepath to realize that his bond with Erik was perhaps more intimate than with anyone he had come across with.

Human or mutant.

Charles would not wait another ten years to see the metal-bender again. It had become an unfortunate habit of them as of late, so therefore, Charles chose the next best thing. The mutant hadn't used Cerebro this much since first finding young minds to teach and nurture when Erik had been by his side. At the thought of one of his first students, Alex, the telepath became subdued. Charles was grateful that Alex had died without knowing pain. The beams that the younger mutant had tried to protect him with had destroyed him, leaving nothing left. Not even ashes.

Scott had been mourning. It had been only two months since Apocalypse had been defeated, and the young man had not stopped his ritual of visiting his brother's grave, situated in a quiet place, every day. Charles didn't tell the younger mutant of how he was able to feel his pain, and heard him crying at night when he thought no one could hear him. Charles had observed that Erik hadn't approached the gravesite of the young man whom they once both taught. Perhaps it was out of guilt for what he had done. If it had been ten years ago, Charles would have stated that Magneto didn't feel anything; not guilt or remorse. That was not true, the telepath now thought. He had observed of how Erik never directly approached Scott. Being the pacifist and forgiving person that he was, Charles did not blame Erik for Alex's death. _But I feel that you do, Erik._

Every morning Charles would wake up and go to Cerebro and have conversations with his old friend. It hadn't surprised him that Erik still woke up early, at five thirty or six o'clock in the morning. Twenty years of separation, betrayal, and death hadn't caused much to change about the metal-bender's sleeping habits. Charles himself hadn't been able to sleep one day after a week after Erik had left, and had decided to use Cerebro to find other young mutants to teach. It hadn't been his goal to seek Erik's mind. It had just been one of the minds that he had touched.

And somehow, Charles had been unable to stay away.

They sometimes talked about nothing; sometimes about everything and debating their philosophies as they had used to. Sometimes Charles would only talk and Erik would listen. Charles thought about one of the correspondences they had over the past month.

 _Out of curiosity Erik…are your thoughts in German when you are not speaking to me?_

It been something that Charles had thought about for a while, as he heard Storm's – the codename for herself, not yet revealing her true name – thought while asleep or thinking to herself. The language that she thought inside her head was something that Charles wished her understood.

 _Yes._ There was a hint of ironic humor in Erik's thoughts. _Why, does it surprise you, Charles?_

 _No, in fact._ Charles took a moment to ponder this information. He had also heard Kurt's thoughts as well, sleepy German with words that sounded similar to English and yet not. Charles had wondered absent-mindedly what Erik sounded like when speaking in German. It would sound… Aware of where his thoughts were heading, Charles withdrew from those thoughts, wondering internally why he had thought those things about his friend. That was the end of the conversation. Sometimes their correspondences were brief, others longer.

His mind reached out towards Erik as he remembered their previous conversations. A small smile formed around his lips as the familiar presence of his friend filled his thoughts.

"Hello, old friend."

Charles could feel Erik's calm – not dominated by anger or pain or regret – as the older mutant thought quietly. _Do you have so ulterior motive for getting in my head at six o'clock in the morning?_

 _No. I just like talking to you, Erik._

 _Charles,_ Erik tried with a sigh, _I do not understand why you see the light when there is none._

Sadness built in the telepath's eyes. He could understand why Erik was trying to say. _Why have correspondences such as this when will be become enemies again?_ Perhaps that his old friend had a point in that regard. Perhaps the old Magneto would have eventually become enemies with Professor X once again, but in this future…Charles didn't believe so. _Not this time._

 _Erik?_ It was strange; Charles felt disconnected from the older mutant, as if his very thoughts were clothed in darkness. He repeated the name again, reaching and searching for his friend to respond. There was nothing.

It was as if Erik Lensherr no longer existed.

Charles fought the panic building hard against his chest. The figure bathed in red was no longer able to be reached. _What…?_

Suddenly, he felt the fear. A fear that stripped him of all cognitive thought, leaving him with a dark and forbidden feeling. Charles could feel himself struggling, trying to run away from the vice-grip that contained him in their grasp. _Erik…!_ Charles thought. _Erik…!_ He tried to reach out, believing that his friend could still reach him, call out to him in his mind.

Charles gasped as he felt numbness spread throughout his body. A pain. Fear, the ability to bend metal slowly fading away.

 _Charles!_ The taste of fear was all the friend could comprehend as he felt the shout in his mind.

Before it faded away to nothingness.

It felt cold. Without the presence of his friend in his mind, their thoughts brushing, no longer… The mind that he had come to know as well as his own.

Emptiness. The feeling of feverishly searching for something, looking until it was impossible to deny the fact that was reality.

The mind that Charles Xavier had come to know as well as his own was gone.

 _ERIK!_


	2. Chapter One

Warning for severe frightening images.

* * *

 _Finding Monsters  
_

"Do you think the Professor seems happier?"

Scott looked up from their papers, distracting him from the physics exam they had on Friday. Soon after the school had been rebuild, the Professor had begun lessons again, much to the students' chagrin. Scott, however, appeared to enjoy those lessons. Jean suspected, as she looked across at the mutant before her, that it was more about not thinking of his older brother's death than wanting to learn. The female red-head observed for signs of grief or melancholy through Scott's mind, but found none. _This time,_ came a voice in the teen's mind. Jean inwardly shook the thought away, feeling a brief spark of annoyance from Scott before he spoke.

"No more than usual," he stated with a glance at the study material before glancing back at Jean. "Why?"

"I sometimes hear the Professor's thoughts," Jean said. Nervousness eroded her mind, aware that she was talking about her mutation to someone other than the professor. Everyone in the mansion feared her, still, even after defeating Apocalypse. A tight ball of fear surfaced in her chests before she could stop it, almost stopping her breath at the memory of defeating a mutant not even those with decades of honing their powers could. The Professor had stated afterword that it was okay to be afraid. That he too once feared his powers. Jean wondered if there would ever be a day that she didn't fear herself, wondering what would happen if she would kill someone. Jean had never gotten past the phase of talking to someone about her mutation. She had been in the Xavier mansion since she was thirteen, and yet the red-haired mutant could only talk about her mutation with the Professor with fear laced in her voice. The only ones who didn't seem to fear her was this boy across from her, wearing glasses specially made so that he could see without hurting anyone, and a mutant known as Magneto.

Otherwise named as Erik Lehnsherr.

The ex-Horseman of the Apocalypse seemed more human that what was said in hushed whispers by her fellow students. During the rebuilding of the school, Jean noticed of how the metal-bender had stayed out of their way, an afterthought to the teens and children. The dark-haired mutant with eyes that changed colors depending on the light always seemed to be by the Professor's side. Early in the morning over the past month, Jean had felt the Professor's light thoughts, basking in contentment as the fellow telepath saw the older mutant's absent-minded gaze towards the window with a small smile on his face. She had only been able to understand few basic conversations and the name _Erik_ before the Professor realized what was happening and called attention to the early morning calculus class.

"He stares outside of the classroom, as if reliving a fond memory," Jean muttered. Scott suddenly grinned. "I think I know what you're talking about." He seemed almost proud of himself, and Jean decided to humor him by pretending she didn't know the answer. "He's talking to the agent from the CIA, isn't he?"

Jean frowned. She had heard the name Moira McTaggert during the helicopter ride from Cairo, but she had mostly been distracted by the realization of how far her powers could go and sharing worried glanced at the Professor, who was currently unconscious and lying a few meters from where the bleeding but conscious mutants were. Her blue eyes had stared bewilderedly at the former enemy no longer wearing his helmet staying beside the Professor, never even moving even as Dr. McCoy threatened to throw him out of the helicopter. Jean had noticed of how the human CIA agent appeared disappointed that she didn't get to say goodbye to the Professor, and stared at the mutant by his side uncertainly for a moment before she stepped outside to Washington, D.C., where she would inform the CIA of what had happened in Cairo. _She hasn't come by to see the Professor once,_ Jean thought in bewilderment as she realized the implication Scott was implying.

"I think he's talking to Erik," Jean replied. Scott looked at her blankly. Then after a brief moment, he recoiled and stared at her in shock. Jean understood from the thoughts that Scott was having that he didn't particular like the metal-bender.

"He's talking to Magneto?" _Ridiculous,_ the other teen thought as he stared at Jean in confusion. "Wait." There was a pause. "Why do you call him Erik?"

"Since Cairo, I've been able to read the Professor's mind at times," Jean confessed. "And since the Professor calls him Erik, I didn't truly think about calling him anything else."

Scott didn't respond. He seemed to be thinking deeply, and Jean attempted this time to not read his thoughts. "Why is he contacting Magneto when the two are enemies?"

 _They're not enemies now,_ Jean thought to herself. _And –_

Suddenly a sharp pain entered Jean's mind, causing her to gasp and clutch her head. "Jean? Jean!" She heard Scott's voice in the corner of her mind, her breathing unraveling as the pain continued to rise. It entered through her mind, almost mind-numbing her to all else. She could feel the naked fear on back of her throat, almost tasting it as she desperately tried to feel for _something_. There was a brief moment of emptiness, almost overwhelming her with the dark, cold feeling. Then,

 _"ERIK!"_

Jean gasped as the feeling slowly disappeared from her mind, now vaguely aware of the sun shining in her face as Scott continuing to shout. Her breathing remained chaotic until she remembered where she was. _I'm here at the Xavier mansion,_ the red-haired mutant thought as she forced her breathing to slow. _I'm here with Scott; we were studying calculus – no, physics._

"Jean?" Scott repeated, his voice almost inaudible as the teen slowly sat up from where she had fallen down to.

"We need to check on the Professor," Jean whispered somewhat breathlessly. "Something's wrong."

* * *

Perhaps it was fate or destiny that made the Professor assign the mission to the newly-established X-Men. It seemed that Peter Maximoff was always chasing the mutant known as Magneto.

Otherwise known as Erik Lehnsherr.

And also known as…his father. Peter had only told a few people about his secret, the fewer the students knew the better. He did _not_ fancy being treated like a pariah. The silver-haired mutant was certain that the Professor knew. After all, it had been his mistake to grill Mystique about his father until she snapped and told him to research by himself. Considering the sibling-exasperated-telling-you-what-to-do relationship they seemed to have, Peter was certain that the Professor knew that the mutant they were currently looking for was his father.

Apparently the Professor had been talking – or _thinking_ , whatever you call it – to his father, when the metal-bender's mind had vanished. Peter had tried to not stare at the slight of the Professor's hesitant expression, pausing in between as he explained that that he felt Erik's powers disappear before the telepath could no longer feel his mind. _That's cool,_ Peter thought before he inwardly slapped himself. Staring at the Professor's serious gaze as he glanced at Mystique, it was not cool at all. Still, having something take away your powers seemed to be an interesting experience. And Peter did not want whatever trouble his father had gotten into this time to actually disappear before telling him that he was his son. Breaking him out of the Pentagon was awesome, but it would only be an awesome experience if you experienced it only _once_.

It had been a month since trying to locate his father and friend/enemy of the Professor and X-Men. A month with no clues, and the silver-haired mutant was seriously becoming tired. Peter wandered behind the other X-Men as they observed the rural area around them. They were in Poland. Peter had never been in Poland before in his thirty-one years, so he had decided that this would be a novel experience. It's not like every day you go to the place where your father spent ten years of his life and look for him at the same time. _"There are still some Polish leaders among the government who wish for Erik's arrest,"_ the Professor had stated with a troubled expression. And so thanks of Nightcrawler's teleportation ability, the X-Men had been able to teleport to Poland. Mystique was currently leading the X-Men that contained Scott, Jean, Nightcrawler, and Peter as they began approaching a worn road. _The Professor thinks that my father got kidnapped by some bureaucrats who weren't very happy with him.,_ the silver-haired mutant thought to himself. _But how would they be able to take away his powers? That doesn't make any sense!_

Too wrapped up in his own thoughts, Peter realized too late he had bumped into Nightcralwer. But the blue-skinned mutant's focus was not on him. Peter moved away and stared at what caused the others to stop. His eyes, fast as his mutation, bulged and slowed as he became aware of what he was staring at.

It was a house. Or what used to be. Peter could still see the blackened walls of the building, and he swallowed thickly at the amount of charcoal and ash surrounding the area. Nothing that resembled anything – tables, chairs, beds – had survived the fire. Even the truck that had been carefully parked in the driveway had been burned so badly it melted, the dark goo creating a puddle, hard and darker than black.

"We have to find Erik," Mystique stated calmly, although Peter could see the quickness her yellow eyes moved as she stared back and forth at the burned house. "Come with me!"

The five mutants walked into the forest, their thoughts having more dread with each step. Peter decided to go ahead, ignoring Mystique as she called for him to call back. It wasn't easy to run as fast as he did, however. Something told him to go back, to not go any farther, but the mutant rebelliously continued. _What's that smell?_ Peter thought as he became aware of an odor – hot and sickly, almost enough for him to turn back but he didn't. His ears became aware of a buzzing noise, almost as if it was a fl –

Peter stopped. His feet almost collided with air as the mutant stopped and stayed there. A part of him wanted to go back. To go back and not remember what he was seeing. But his light eyes widened and stared.

"Peter!" He vaguely heard Mystique's voice. "What the hell –?"

She fell silent. Peter thought he heard Jean release a horrified gasp of breath as Scott suddenly leaned over and violently retched.

The bodies used to be a woman and a child. The smell of death almost overwhelmed Peter, and he attempted to not faint as the heavy toxic smell invaded his nostrils. They were hanging from the branches, tied with ropes, like the criminals that they were instead of the hoard of flies covering their decaying flesh. The long dark hair the woman and child had were limp, almost brittle, their flesh shades of black and dark, wriggling with maggots. Peter opened his mouth to breathe and coughed, trying not to vomit as he saw maggots continuing the writhe inside of the child's eye socket. She looked to be about eight years old. The woman and the child both had gaping wounds with decayed flesh, and Peter tried to swallow but couldn't as he stared at the two bodies.

"Peter." He jumped, almost instinctively running before he reminded himself that his hand on his shoulder belonged to a friend. The silver-haired mutant's pale face stared at Jean, who was looking at him carefully. It seemed that he had been so out of it that he had missed the others move slowly from the decaying bodies of...Erik Lehnsheerr's wife and daughter. Peter glanced at them again, sickened at the sight. Dirt covered the clothing they had once worn, meaning they had been buried and _then_ hung until nothing remained beyond the scent of death, putrid and retching as maggots continued to writhe in their darkened flesh. _What kind of sick…?_ Peter closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth as he felt Jean reach for his mind and try to stop his emotions from overtaking him.

"Peter," Jean began again. "We have to leave. Whoever did this – _hates_ Erik, and we need rescue him now." He noted the sorrow and grief in her eyes as she appeared to stare beyond him, and he nodded slowly, not yet noticing of how the red-haired mutant had called his father by his name. His mind appeared to have other intentions, however, as he thought back to of how he had seen the two deep holes in the ground far from the sight where the bodies had hung, the piled dirt thick and across the two holes, before being disturbed. _He must have loved them a lot,_ Peter thought at the memory of the metal-bender surrounded by metal his eyes closed in Cario. _To have buried them so far deep._ Unbidden, anger rose within him.

How Erik Lehnsherr had loved his wife and _other_ child.

* * *

The X-Men found themselves in Stryker's base, all the way to Canada. It was the only place where the Professor could think that they were – perhaps – holding Erik. Peter didn't know exactly how telepathy worked. But somehow he sensed before they had left the Poland and the bodies of his father's wife and daughter that Jean was having a conversation with the Professor. Jean had stated that Stryker was likely holding Erik, given of how the human had taken some of them hostage after the mansion had previously been destroyed. _But why him?_ Peter had wondered. _It's not like he can take over the world – well, he actually almost_ did _– but that's beside the point; the Professor would be a better choice. Given of how he can read minds._

The five ran along the hallways, shocked and wary to find the base apparently abandoned. Peter was walking, slowly and almost unconsciously as he thought about what he had seen. The decayed black bodies of the woman and the child burned even as Peter tried to forget. Disturbing the dead…was disgusting beyond what he had thought of humans. The anger he previously had turned into sorrow. He had heard from Mystique that his father's wife and child had died in Poland. Even he, who barely knew his father, didn't believe for a minute that he would kill his wife and daughter. It was reported by news reporters. Even now, the scent of death clung to Peter. And now…they appeared before a door.

Nightcrawler glanced at Mystique if they should use his mutation to go inside, but the older mutant shook her head and allowed Jean to slowly open the door. The air was still. Mystique and the other mutants moved inside the vacant room. Peter's blood stilled at the dark stains on the concrete floor. They were almost like droplets of rain, staining the ground, from the doorway to the very end of the empty room. The walls were clean. Nothing was stained with the dark, almost black blood. Peter's eyes widened as he saw a glass case on the wall. He moved forward, staring at the glass case. To his shock, the case held what looked like pieces of paper. _Why would paper…?_

"E…" Peter turned, hearing the sudden and strange catch in Mystique's voice. It sounded almost as if she was trying to speak, but was choking on air. The older mutant was staring at something towards the wall. Nightcrawler recoiled, gasping as if shocked and Jean and Scott were motionless, their eyes staring at whatever they were seeing.

Peter didn't know of how he didn't throw up. Or faint. He didn't know how he could stand. His eyes widened impossibly wide and he almost forgot to breathe.

There was a body. No, not a body. Peter could barely see it, but the person was still breathing. His eyes continued to stare at the very slight rise of the person's chest. The first thing that Peter noticed was that the person – the man, had no hair. Whatever hair he had left was gone. _No, shaved,_ Peter thought sickeningly. The man was on his side, arms and hands splayed across the floor as if wanting to die. Various half-healed wounds covered his body, his ribs showing as blood continued to trickle down his side. His face was covered in blood, dark and red as it continued to trickle onto the ground. The man's arms and legs were emaciated, looking like sticks rather than human flesh. Peter heard Mystique gasp at the sight of a number on the man's arm. _No…_ Peter thought in mind-numbing horror. On his right arm, thin and pale and limp were numbers as well.

And his eyes…

His eyes were blank and looked dead. _"You have his eyes."_ Complementing his eyes as if they didn't come from a so-called monster.

"Dad…?"


	3. Chapter Two

_Chapter Three_

Jean could see every one of his ribs. They protruded against the pale flesh with dark red oozing against his skin. His extremities were withered away, leaving pale stretched skin. It seemed almost impossible to believe that this man had once levitated the metal to rebuild the Xavier mansion. Jean's breathing inwardly hitched as she looked into his eyes. They were blue, empty of the gentle ocean she had once seen when Erik Lehnsherr was beside the Professor. His eyes looked as if he himself was dead, but was not through the shallow breaths from his lungs. The red-haired mutant vaguely heard Peter call out to Erik, and felt the result of his breathing tone causing the others to become aware of their surroundings again. Jean pushed forward, ignoring Mystique telling her to stay back. She felt Nightcrawler's unease, and the blue-skinned mutant glanced warily back and forth before speaking.

"A lady shouldn't see this," he stated with his thick German accent, vaguely pointing to Erik's nakedness. A sharp anger and annoyance pulsed in Jean's mind, and she felt him wince. _I am going to be a doctor, Herr Wagner,_ Jean thought with fire. _And_ no one _should have to see this!_ Perhaps it was the fact that she had seen the numbers on Erik's arms. Jean had observed of how Erik had never removed his long-sleeved shirt, even at the hottest days during the brief time he was with in New York. And now she knew why the metal-bender didn't allow his sleeves to show. Seeing the numbers on his arms – _both_ of them – brought rage that surprised Jean. Her eyes followed Erik's right arm, seeing the same numbers written, not even two weeks old. Jean swallowed heavily and pushed her emotions inside. How could she have not felt his mind while searching through Stryker's base? How did she not feel his thoughts, his… _fear_ laced with agony and anger? It was as if…

Jean reached for Erik's mind. It was dark, with no light. _Cold,_ she thought. Jean shuddered. She was afraid to read his mind, after seeing the horror that was his body. What did they do to him? Her mind flashbacked to the unknown man who had slaughtered the guards, howling and shouting with rage and bloodlust. He had been unharmed, unwounded, and yet Jean could still feel the fragility of that one man's mind as she gave back some of his memories. She was able to hear his thoughts. Half-formed and sharp with rage and fear, yes, but they were thoughts.

 _Erik,_ she called. Even she knew that it was better to call him by his name than Magneto. _Erik. Answer me._ Her body was overcome with horror as the telepath realized she could feel nothing.

There were no thoughts. No feelings.

Only deep, cold emptiness.

Her breath caught as she resurfaced from trying to read his mind and found that his eyes were closed. Jean's thin fingers inadvertently trembled as she pressed two fingers against the tortured man's neck. He was still alive. _Thready and weak, but a pulse._

"Can anyone carry him?" Jean asked.

"I can," Peter immediately replied, his wide eyes never leaving the image of Jean crouching by the tortured body of his father. _Peter called him Dad,_ the red-haired mutant thought to herself as the silver-haired mutant came over. An uncertain look appeared across his face as he slowly lifted the older mutant in his arms. If not for the slight rise of Erik's chest, Jean would have thought again that the mutant was dead.

"We need to take him to Healer," Jean stated to Mystique. The female shape-shifter had regained her composure the quickest, and she nodded to Nightcrawler who was moving as quick as he could where Peter and Scott were standing. "Otherwise he will die in Peter's arms."

* * *

"Healer!"

Jason Fraser, otherwise known as Healer, glanced coolly at the five newly-established X-Men as they stood in his medical room. His dark hair reached to his neck, and ice-blue eyes paused from examining a specimen under the microscope that Hank had generously given him before his eyes glanced at the teens in relative disinterest.

"What are you doing at this time of the day?" The mutant drawled. "Another icky wound that the precious Professor X cannot solve?" _I can't tell any of these brats apart,_ the embittered dark-haired mutant thought as a bark of laughter almost escaped from him. It only took a bored glance in the X-Men's direction that he realized what was wrong.

Jason would never forget the sight of Erik Lehnsherr lying so motionlessly still in Peter's arms. He himself stood frozen for a moment as he stared at arms hanging limply from his sides, the tattoo engraved – so notorious even he recognized it – on both of the mutant's arms. His head was shaven, and various wounds crisscrossed his body, causing a pool of blood to gather onto the floor of the medical wing, something that Jason would have barked complaints before, but his brain seemed to be focused on the mutant before him.

 _Dehydration and malnutrition,_ Jason thought as his brain became sharp and focused. His mutation allowed him to know any medical condition or damage that a mutant or human had. As his range focused, Jason's eyes widened and barked towards Peter.

"Set him down!" Jason resisted the urge to shout again as the silver-haired mutant slowly lowered Erik Lehnsherr on one of the lone medical cot. _Too long,_ the dark-haired mutant thought as he immediately scanned his surroundings as Peter and the other X-Men looked at him with increasing concern. _I don't have enough equipment for this!_

His thoughts, however, were interrupted by Jean Grey.

"Is there anything we can help you with, Healer?" the teen stated uncertainly as the ice-blue eyed mutant put on medical gloves with a quick _snap!_ The medical room suddenly had a medical try with additional gloves and surgical equipment. The heart monitor was not yet attached, and Jason rushed to Erik's bedside even though he knew that his vitals weren't good. _I need a ventilator,_ Jason immediately thought, _and an endotracheal tube for intubation!_ Immediately after the thought, the tube appeared in his left gloved hand, and he was about to intubate when his eyes glanced over at the X-Men with graveness in his eyes.

"There is nothing you can do but wait," the supposed-physician stated as a surgical mask appeared in his hands and tied it to his mouth. _Assist me, Jean. You're the only one who could possibly stomach this,_ Jason thought to young Jean. Her eyes widened, but the mutant made an impatient motion with his hands, and soon the red-haired teen was by his side as another surgical mask appeared in her hands. Smart although she was, the girl looked dumbly at it.

"Put it on," Jason stated with surprising calm. He started to intubate Erik, holding his mouth open as he inserted the endotracheal tube. "Put on some gloves as well." His eyes glanced at hers. "Do exactly as I say."

* * *

 _Argh!_ Blood spilled from an open artery, and Jason used thread to tie another knot to keep the artery from bleeding again. Jean stood beside the older mutant with her gloves covered in blood as Jason cursed.

 _Damn it!_ Jason thought. Sweat was slowly creeping down his neck, almost pausing to take a breath as he stared at the inside of the devastated body. Jason's mutation not only allowed him to see the external injuries of a person he looked at, but once he saw inside their body, he could also see the wounds and injuries they had suffered…even decades-old. _So much blood…_ he thought as the massive internal hemorrhage continued. He had too much at stake to wonder of how the mutant who had recruited him to the Xavier mansion had ended up like this. Horror eroded his senses, and Jason fought to keep his emotions in check as the horrific wounds and injuries Erik had echoed in his mind. _Spleenorrharia…_ A collapsed lung and from broken ribs were easy fixes compared to removing a ruptured spleen. Blood had flown onto the ground, dark and covering so much of Jason's gloves that he could barely see of where the blood came from. Jean was able to help, cutting sparse threads where he couldn't reach and managing to follow his instructions as he taught her of how to do a chest tube. Jason carefully lifted out the ruptured spleen, careful to not spill any more blood, as he set the heavily damaged organ into a try.

"Healer!" Jean cried. The heart monitor began to wail, and the male mutant cursed his luck. _Shit, shit, shit!_ His ice-blue eyes froze for a moment at the flat line. "Too many scars," someone else would say. "With the way this guy was, I'm surprised he made it to the table."

But Jason was different. His mind refused to focus on the fact that a dead mutant was on the operating table, and instead, he thought about the man who had come to recruit him. _"Charles could use someone with your abilities,"_ the metal-bender had stated to the scowling Jason after finding him in an alleyway. _"He would be very pleased to find someone passive enough for him."_

" _I'm not passive at all," Jason remembered shouting. He easily recognized the mutant in front of him, standing still even as his hands remained shaking. "How the hell do you know me, anyway, Magneto?"_

 _The tall mutant with dark hair seemed almost amused by Jason's rage. "You don't seem to be afraid of me," he said carefully. "According to your government, I have assassinated one president and almost assassinated the other."_

 _Jason had stared at the mutant staring at him in silence, as if waiting for his response. The younger mutant saw that the notorious ex-Horseman, pardoned by his government apparently, was wearing a plaid shirt with worn blue jeans and boots. His eyes changed colors slightly, looking more gray in the dark night. He didn't seem to be the…whatever people were calling him these days._

 _Jason shrugged. "I cared no more for Nixon than you did." Suddenly, he smirked. "You would have done us all a favor if you had killed him."_

 _Magneto didn't respond for a moment. His posture seemed to straighten, and looked at the younger man with even darker hair and ice-blue eyes carefully._

" _I see you do not care for the government much."_

" _Fuck them all," Jason stated testily. The other mutant didn't react at the sound of his coarse language. Instead, he asked,_

" _What did they do to you?" His voice lowered, almost inaudible to Jason's growing rage._

" _I studied for years to be a doctor. You already know from that friend of yours that I can see every medical condition or injury that a person has immediately upon looking at them, For example, I know that ten years ago you were punched in the jaw." For some reason those words appeared to unease the metal-bending mutant in front of him. "I can also project anything that I want, which is why after I found that I was a mutant that I decided to be a doctor. I thought I could save people with my powers." A bark of ironic and bitter laughter escaped from him, and Jason saw that the mutant uncommonly known as Erik Lehnsherr was looking at him without judgement, without pity. "I studied for_ years _, and I thought my_ mother _throwing me out of the house because I was a_ mutant _was bad enough, but it wasn't even the start!" Jason took a deep breath, breathing heavily through his anger and could see his reflection through the mutant's eyes. "After I graduated, I was offered to work in a hospital in California. The birthplace of emergency medicine. But they asked me if I was a…mutant."_

" _I said yes of course, thinking that…my powers could help them." Jason ground his teeth, and his hands clenched into fists at the burning memory eating at his mind. "And they took it away! My_ license _! My_ degree _!" Soon enough Jason realized he was shouting. It seemed that Erik Lehnsherr understood, for anger too began to enter his eyes, and his fingers suddenly lowered to his arm. "Everything! They took_ everything _away from me! The friends that I thought I had hated me and feared me! I was thrown out of my apartment! This is my first whole month on the streets, Magneto," Jason stated, his blue eyes as cold as the winter's wind. "And now I spend my day looking through garbage because no one will serve me, and living in a box specially designed for a_ freak _." His lips curled at the word._

 _The twenty-six-year-old mutant suddenly became aware of the older metal-bender's gaze. He didn't look away even as Jason stared at him for minutes on end._

" _How would you like to be a doctor in rural New York surrounded by our people, Dr. Jason Fraser, given the title and degree you deserve?"_

He had later told Jason that he should call him Erik. The younger mutant had stared at him for a moment, who had a strange, almost peaceful expression at the sound of his request, before Charles Xavier's voice invaded his mind. The situation was not…ideal. Jason hadn't known what to expect when he was told that he was going to be a doctor, after all the injustice that had been done to him. He had found that he did not like people much after the shunned feeling he had grown used after being stripped of his license, and the dark-haired mutant found it annoying to be surrounded by children who talked and cried too much. He especially disliked of how Charles Xavier had tried to calm his mind about his anger and rage towards his _"experiences."_ The telepath had attempted to make Jason socialize, who was very happy spending time in his lab all day with no one in sight and studying medical textbooks and doing experiments. No one seemed content to leave him be. E Only the presence of one Erik Lehnsherr brought him some solace. Sometimes the mutant would come by his lab late at night, simply watch him murmur medical terms under his breath or conduct an experiment. Sometimes he would listen quietly as Jason spoke to him, and didn't disapprove towards his opinion towards the current situation of mutant/human politics, or of his grievances.

Most of the time though, Jason spent his time alone as Erik was with the Professor.

Erik had been able to find him. His life had been given a reason again, and Jason was determined that he would not die before he punched him for leaving in the first place.

"Healer!" Jason stopped the CPR and looked at a pale Jean Grey, who was shaking him. "Healer, it's okay! He has a pulse!"

And there it was. A pulse, beating slowly and steadily. Alive.

* * *

Two hands lied across the clean white sheets. A lone IV drip was resting against the wall, the heart monitor almost beeping soothingly as a lone mutant in a wheelchair stared at the broken form of his old friend. Charles Xavier's back was hunched, two hands resting across his mouth as his blue eyes stared at the almost-too small figure lying in the bed. To his eyes, Erik had never looked small. He had seemed, even in his darkest moments, capable of surviving anything. It seemed impossible to him as well that Erik had simply been _taken_. Although Charles had mastered the façade of calm and contentment over the years since he was a child, his mask was cracking every moment when Erik remained missing. The feeling of the emptiness that echoed through him as Erik was simply _gone_ would never leave him. It was blackness that was only comparable to the years that Erik was in prison, and when Charles had been…not himself.

Now his eyes stared at his old friend. His dark head of hair had been shaved, and Charles swallowed. Although some would laugh at the sense that now he and his friend both had no hair, it was not a laughing matter. His hands shook. _The Nazis would shave the prisoners' hair as they were being processed._ Charles almost gasped with shock when he had seen the familiar number embedded on Erik's arm. _Oh God…_ he thought, staring brokenly at the sight of the Holocaust tattoo on his friend's right arm. _I hope you were unconscious when this happened, old friend._ But Charles knew. He knew of all people that Erik would rather die than pass out or admit defeat, especially to his captors. Erik was pale. Charles had pretended to understand the rattle of details Jason had given to him about his condition, but the telepath was simply happy to have his friend alive. At the corner of his eye, the bald telepath could see the papers that Raven had retrieved from where Erik had been found.

He could not say torture, even though it was. The heavy gauze and hospital gown was enough evidence. The heart monitor continued to beep.

Raven had placed the papers on the table besides the drawer, her yellow eyes not meeting him or of the too-small Erik on the bed. She had left as quickly as she had come, closing the door behind her.

Charles took a deep breath and felt the paper's mass heavy in his hand. He swallowed, trying to breathe through the irrational fear pulsing through his body. His gaze followed Erik's for a moment, seeing the too-pale face and among the wounds underneath the gauze. The blood had been cleaned, but it didn't stop from Charles from feeling the horror that both Jean and more subtly, that Jason was projecting after…the operation. The telepath's hands shook as he lowered the paper onto his lap and began to read.

06:30 hrs. #24005 secured at base.

Charles halted. His breathing seemed to shake more as his eyes widened at the old memory that surfaced. Erik, showing him his arm one night, still unconvinced that Charles knew everything about him. Whatever reply that Charles was going to give to his friend fell from his mind at the slightly haunted and guarded look in Erik's eyes. _"Does this satisfy your knowledge, Charles?"_ Even the intimacy of his name, coming from Erik's somber lips, did not calm Charles at all. His blue eyes stared with remorse at his friend, knowing too well that there was nothing that could be said.

And now…they were referring _him_ as a number. Charles squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to calm him mind even as he felt sick at the thought of the memory of the Nazis cataloging the torture to the people they experimented on.

07:00 hrs. #24005 attempted to struggle as _– reading illegible_ – stripped naked and shaved hair. No reaction upon burning of hair.

Charles' expression grew paler and paler as he continued to read. The writing was meticulous. Cataloging everything that…happened to Erik. He was beginning to suspect that there was more than one…captor, as various places in the text were illegible, and several places…reported Erik _reliving_ his mother's death for forty-eight hours. _A telepath,_ Charles thought in horror at the thought a mutant with the same powers using his mutation for this…agony. _How could I not have known…?_

At 00:00 to 23:59, #24005 subjected to starvation and without water for five days. Managed to stay lucid for three, eventually succumbing to hallucinations.

 _How could they do this to you, Erik?_ Unabated horror began to rise to Charles as he read the last sentence.

Calling for someone named Charles.

A half-gasp, half-sob tore from his mouth, and Charles forced himself to continue to read. _I don't want to read anymore,_ he thought as his mind started to become damaged with images of the deranged telepath entering Erik's mind and making him relive the worst memories of his life. Of having his body wounded enough that…Erik was about to die, but a mutant with a power to heal every injury until the same horrific nightmare began again. _Oh, Erik… I'm so sorry._ How was it that those words would never be enough? Charles heard the same words in his mind again, remembering of how his pleads had fallen on deaf ears after the deaths of Erik's wife and child. _I'm so…_

13:00 hrs. to 14:00 hrs. 104 of #24005's bones broken. Started to scream at 13:30 hrs. at the breakage of left lateral femur. Was not able to pass out.

Tears were falling from his eyes. Charles had to keep his powers in check; he could feel himself losing control, the graphic violence and… _violation_ of his friend scar his mind. _104…?_ Charles gaped in stunned agony. _That's half…of the entire skeletal system…!_ After thirty days…after a month of horror beyond measure…

#24005 not responsive. Eyes empty and did not react to any pain stimuli.

Someone was crying and moaning. Charles realized that it was him as his heart shattered at the last line of the piece of paper so heavy in his hands. Sobs, thick and heavy with uncompressible sorrow and despair tore from him, shaking as the paper fell onto the floor. Charles cried.

 _My dear…friend…I'm so, so sorry…_

He reached for the too pale and almost skeletal hand, grasping it without almost any strength as Charles continued to sob.

 _I've…failed you, Erik._

He could not reach his mind. Not because Charles was afraid to. But because Erik's thoughts...no longer existed.

And that scared Charles Xavier more than anything.


	4. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three  
_

Peter was certain that running wouldn't help. How could it? Usually his thoughts ran as fast as his mutation, but since three days ago…Peter's mind seemed have slowed. He brushed the silver hair out of his eyes and tried to think. Instead of wandering the halls or blowing off steam in the Danger Room, Peter had found himself aimlessly staring at the sky overhead. Perhaps it _would_ be a good idea to run, use his powers to…do whatever he had in mind. He would want to run until he had no breath, until he truly collapsed on the ground, on the soft green grass. He was now, however, staring at the gigantic satellite that faced him, wondering why he wasn't running.

Perhaps if he did run, the silver-haired mutant would understand what he had seen three days ago. The image flashed in his mind before Peter could prevent it. _Ribs…skin pale and stained with blood. Empty eyes. Numbers…on both arms._

 _"Dad…?"_

He hadn't meant to say that. Peter truly _hadn't._ It had just come out in a moment of shock, staring at what he thought to be a body – still alive. It had been very strange – no, almost creepy, to carry his father in his arms. Not because of who the man was, the almost invincible Magneto who was a bad guy according to Mystique. Erik Lehnsherr felt so impossibly light in Peter's arms. He could feel the bones of his shoulder blades against his chest, and Peter would remember of his father's head laid against his chest. Jean had said that Erik Lehnsherr would die if they didn't take the dying mutant to Healer right away. Peter had stood there with the emaciated and wounded body of his father in his arms as the Healer guy seemed disinterested. Until he looked at the state Erik Lehnsherr was in.

Then it all went to hell.

Somehow Jean actually assisted in the surgery that apparently saved his father's life. The rest of X-Men, including Peter, had been ordered outside. He wasn't certain what to say as he and the X-Men simply stood there outside of the medical room, as if standing there would actually help them go back inside. There was slight tension in the air, and Peter suddenly felt the need to use his powers – not to run away of course.

"Is Magneto actually your…dad?"

Peter pretended to not understand as Scott looked at him in undisguised shock. The silver-haired mutant could see Nightcrawler and Mystique looking at him too, although more politely.

"Yeah," the older mutant said to the teen with an almost too-happy smile. For some reason, he felt…upset. No, it was another word that he couldn't put his finger on it. "Isn't it cool that I have a badass supervillain as a dad?"

He understood of what he was feeling the moment that he had stepped into his father's hospital room. Or, perhaps that term was silly. The Professor had insisted on having Erik stay in his adjacent room – there were two rooms in his own bedroom, one leading to the Professor's own…place, and then to the room that smelled too much like disinfectant and had lots of beeping noises. So, it was kind of like the Professor's extended room, where the Professor seemed to stay for who knows how long. The younger mutant had only known the Professor visited his father for long periods of time because he had tried to visit his father hours after the surgery. His plan, to simply stay for a couple of minutes, hadn't come to fruition because the Professor was there, seeing the metal of his wheelchair by his father's bedside. Peter had been about to turn back after an hour when he suddenly leaned in for a better look. The Professor, his shoulders bowed and his body somewhat shaking, was holding his father's hand. It was a scene completely different from ten years ago when his father and the Professor had simply glared at each other – or rather, the Professor glared at the said metal-bending mutant had simply stared at him in shock. Or…something.

Anyway, Peter understood that he was feeling sadness upon seeing his father in the lone bed with too many machines. _They added a new one today too,_ Peter thought with a slight grimace. According to Healer – who was the dark-haired man who the silver-haired mutant secretly thought that his father would get along great with – had stated that his father was not getting enough oxygen. So not only was Erik Lehnsherr attached to a heart monitor and a chest tube with a tank that monitored how much blood was leaking out of his chest, but now also an oxygen mask. His father had yet to wake up. Peter almost wondered if it was a defense mechanism – after all, it was almost as if his father had come straight of out the –

His thoughts stilled. Peter remembered of how Mystique had reacted when she had seen the tattooed numbers on the dying, _tortured_ mutant's arms. Even he, too fast and bored for school, understood the meaning behind those numbers. It was strange of how Mom hadn't mentioned it, seeing of how she had slept with him. The numbers weren't exactly small, and they were on his _skin_. The only thing that she had told _him_ about his father was that he had left before he was born. And then, when his powers surfaced, that she knew a man who could control metal. _"You're a good boy, Peter,"_ she had said to him as her long arms wrapped around his skinny waist. She had stared into his eyes and caressed his cheek with so much love he _forgot_ about the secret that he wasn't supposed to know. _"You're not like him. The only thing you have from him is his eyes."_

Knowing now that his father had survived the Holocaust forty years ago had paused Peter's thirst for knowledge about his father. When the X-Men had finally reported back to the Professor, the bald telepath seemed calm and collected as opposed to his former almost-losing-it-with-worry self as he thanked them for finding Erik. The Professor had called him back then, and asked him how he was feeling.

Peter tried to hide his feelings with a nonchalant shrug, but the Professor seemed to look at him knowingly.

 _You can admit you are shaken by seeing Erik the way you did, Peter._ It felt strange hearing the Professor's voice in his mind. It felt almost like his own voice, only this one was slowly kind and not a mess of feelings and thoughts. _He is your father, after all._

Perhaps Peter would have laughed if he had been in a similar mindset that he had been before he had decided to chase after his father. Instead, the voice inside his head was almost inaudible with incredulity. _How'd you know?_

The Professor was almost amused, but was patient as both blue eyes stared into each other. _Your thoughts are almost always centered around my old friend, Peter. You wonder, and fear too, how he would react with the knowledge that you are his son._

Peter didn't acknowledge the fact that he was afraid, but he was certain that the Professor knew what he felt anyway.

"I want to know more about him," the silver-haired mutant said. He tried to keep out the desperation out of his voice, but it was futile. "I want to know why he always does bat-shit crazy stuff, and –"

"That is a conversation that you should talk with your father about, Peter," the Professor said kindly but firmly. Peter had swallowed, uncertainty bubbling in his stomach as he watched the telepath wheel away. Peter had only learned about the Holocaust when he had been in school. He had heard about how children as young as his then-baby sister Lorna had been killed by gas, and millions upon millions had perished by the Germans. The numbers that were etched in their arms by a needle was especially brutal and horrifying to a ten-year old Peter's mind. He wondered of how it felt like, to have number on your arm, your very identity taken from you, and living in fear every day of your life living in that…place.

Peter thought about his father in his arms again, so thin and in danger of dying. He thought about the numbers on his arms.

 _Would he want to wake up again, after another experience like that?_

"Peter!" His then-morose thoughts vanished as he looked up and Jean appeared to be running towards him. The mutant was about to smile at her – since the day they had rescued his father, Jean had been quiet and almost seemed worried – when his thoughts crumbled at the sight of the teen crouching at her hand and knees as she tried to regain her breathing. "Your mother's here, Peter, and she says she wants you to come home!"

It was as if a stone had dropped into his stomach. _Shit._

* * *

"When will you wake up, my old friend?"

The whisper was not answered to. Charles was again by his friend's side, not yet holding his hand. Blue eyes looked across at the wounded and still, too-pale face. _Wake up._ The thought, the plead that filtered through his mind, was almost too strong to simply stay in his mind. _Wake up._

 _Please._

 _Erik._

Both Raven and Hank were concerned of how much time he spent by Erik's side. _"It's not healthy, Charles,"_ Hank had patiently said as the telepath looked at him through patiently understanding eyes. _"You're not…I mean, you spend most of your time here when you're not teaching, and Healer said he probably won't wake up for a while."_ The embittered thought that it was always _Erik_ that caused his friend to self-destruct came before Hank could control, and Charles waved away the attempts at apology. It was true that a decade before, Charles had been a broken man – no, it was as if everything inside of him had been destroyed. _I don't want you to get hurt._ The whisper came as a half-plea, stilling the emotion that Charles had in his heart. His blue eyes stared at the unconscious form of Erik, observing the pallor and gauze sticking to his broken wounds. The torture that his Erik had experienced… _broken bones…starvation and sleep-deprivation…screams and sobs and nothing but pain and agony with his friend's body crumpled onto the floor._

 _He's betrayed you three times, Charles._ Hank's eyes widened with sadness as he saw the mutant he had known for the past twenty years take his former enemy's hand in his own, holding it above the hand that showed too many bones. _Don't you remember?_

 _I always remember, Hank,_ Charles had thought as he tried to not think about the pity laced within the scientist's mind. _Every day, I do._

"It is strange, not to hear your thoughts." Charles confessed. He had the sudden urge to caress Erik's cheek, to reminded himself that his friend was real and that he was here. "I have tried for several days, but I still can't hear anything." _Please, wake up, Erik._

Charles' inward thoughts were interrupted by the sudden, anger-griped feeling as it came closer to his room. The telepath could feel hurried thoughts, _dontcomeindontcomein_ , of Peter, as the door to the second room suddenly opened.

Peter was standing by the doorway, awkward by the doorway as if he was a teen and not a grown man in his thirties. A sheepish and slight nervous expression echoed across his face, his silver hair hanging over his eyes. Standing in the center of the doorway was a woman – her brown hair slightly dulled and tussled with curls, mascara almost creating a shadow underneath her green eyes. She was wearing a white blouse with faint blue flowers, sandals covering her feet as she stared Charles straight in the eye.

"I want my son to come home," she stated, anger slowly eroding her thoughts as Charles removed his hands from Erik's - he had no memory of holding Erik's hand - and turned his wheelchair until he facing her completely.

"I understand you are worried about Peter," Charles stated calmly. "My name is Charles Xavier, and I –"

"I know who you are," Peter's mother – _Beth_ – stated through slightly gritted teeth. Her thoughts were unravelling, causing flashes of her thoughts to enter Charles' mind. "Peter hasn't been home in six months, and I…worried about him."

 _This place isn't for him,_ came the thought. _He's not like his father, he's not –_

"Beth," Charles stated carefully as the woman slowly took a step back. "Why do you not want your son to stay?"

Unfortunately, Beth Maximoff would not be deterred by his question.

"How did you know my name?" she asked.

 _I am a telepath,_ Charles wanted to say. _I can read minds, and that is how I know your name._ But that wouldn't be the truth. He had heard her name, whispered in anger and could see again as Beth as she was when Erik had met her – long wavy brown hair down her back, her sad eyes staring back at him, within Erik's mind when he had told him he knew everything about the metal-bender.

"I saw you in Erik's mind," Charles stated the truth and inwardly stilled as Beth's face suddenly hardened.

"Is that what he is going by now?" There was a faint mockery in her voice.

"It is what I know him as, yes," Charles stated calmly as he attempted to soothe the woman's sudden anger, surging as a swollen river. _Monster._ The thought made Charles flinch, and his eyes flickered over to Erik, whose heart monitor beeped almost soothingly amidst the tension in the room. "I am his friend."

Sharp laughter emerged from Beth's lips as she stared at him in disbelief.

"A person like _him_ has friends?"

The sentence shouldn't have mattered as much as it did – he had to control the uncomfortable feeling rising in his stomach, and attempted to filter though the very fast thoughts and feelings Peter was having. _Whatdoyoumeanangerfrustationguiltsecret –_

"The man is a monster." Again. With that word. Charles felt something squeeze inside of his chest, and he saw that Beth's eyes were clouded in anger. Memories were projecting in her mind, and Charles could see a profile of loneliness, a young man wearing worn clothing and jaded eyes. His heart leaped. _Erik._ Putting his fingers on his temple, Charles eased himself in Beth's thoughts drowning in anger – and sorrow.

Charles almost gasped at of how much Erik had not changed since the day he had met Peter's mother – the same dark hair, longer as it caressed his nape and wearing a worn jacket. His eyes had the same fire that Charles always adored, but they were tinged with sadness that Charles hadn't seen before. His face, thinner with a strong jaw, handsome. _"I thought America would be a place of peace,"_ Erik had stated one day when he had unconsciously thought with scorn that America hadn't changed. It had been when they were on the road, looking for mutants. When both of them were still... _"I still remember staring at the Statue of Liberty, taking in her breathtaking beauty."_ Charles had smiled, feeling his friend's memory of exhilaration and joy – feeling so much, so much warmth and _metal_ – as his currently self hide the still-there awe in vain from Charles. _"She was beautiful…and I thought that the country would be beautiful too. So different from the hell of Eastern Europe."_

 _A young man wearing old clothes, wandering in the small neighborhood that she lived in…loneliness…nineteen, just like her, the year 1951. …The young man wet from the rain, cursing audibly in German. She, calling to him – hopehopeloneliness – to come inside. The young man saying nothing for the past few days, staring only at the flames of the fire. Talking slowly to her, only telling her his name. Erik. ERIK. Happiness, the knowledge that she wasn't the only one who lost so much when she found him staring at the numbers on his arm – turning to her, expecting him to find him angry, but instead found him tilting his face towards her with a kiss. Gentleness…unexpected gentleness as his hands caressed her body…laughter coming from her lips, thinking, youwillstay youwillstay –_

 _Until the knife. Until he showed her what he could do. The knife and everything metal floating in the air. Fear. True fear, the heavy silence that enveloped both of them as Charles – no,_ Beth _– saw of how Erik's eyes widened with rage, and he started to shout. Beth screaming. "You're a monster!" There was a fraction of shock that flickered across Erik's face, suddenly seeming gaunt and young as he stared at the fear reflected in her eyes._

 _A monster…_

"What is he doing?" Charles found himself opening his eyes and staring at the older form of the girl that he had seen before, swallowing slowly as the memories echoed in his mind.

"Mom, he's –"

"I saw into your mind," Charles stated quietly as he stared at Beth. For some reason vomit stuck to his throat at the haunting memory of a younger Erik looking so lost. "I saw your memories, and I now…know of your relationship with Erik."

The woman visibly recoiled. Anger and mistrust echoed in her thoughts, and he saw Peter shift uncomfortably.

"So you know what a monster he is then."

" _He_ is not a monster," Charles intoned carefully, ever so carefully as he felt his one hand cover Erik's own. "He is a man who has made many mistakes, but who is capable of good."

"Good?" Beth began to laugh again, her anger turning into unadulterated horror as she stared at the genuine look in Charles' knowing eyes. "That _man_ …is not capable of anything good! He killed the President, and almost killed another!" _The fear of the knives…of the pot hanging in the air, the numbers etched upon his skin…_ "He almost destroyed the world!"

"There is good in him, kindness and a feeling only described as peace within him." Charles' hand tightened on Erik's, and he was aware of Beth's impossibly wide eyes as she stared at Erik lying unconscious in the bed. "Underneath all the rage and anger that you speak of, there is love. There is so much love, Beth."

"How…did he end up like that?" Beth asked, her anger gone as hollowness began to echo in her eyes at Erik's still body.

"I don't know," Charles confessed, the frustration palpable as he stared at the sudden dark look echo as Beth's face. "But you have to understand, Beth, there _is_ love in Erik. I saw that he cared for you, both of you lonely and beautiful minds searching for something to remove the aching loss you both carried." She visibly flinched, her fingers tightening around her wrist. "And you, Beth –"

"We were both lonely," the human stated with a hoarse whisper with a glance at Peter. "I was…grateful to never see him again. But I didn't think my children would…inherit his abilities. Peter's…speed was safe, but –"

Suddenly, Peter stilled. Dark and black anger that Charles had never felt from him before, and his eyes shifted and jaded as he looked across from his mother.

"Safe?" he whispered, his enraged expression sounding so much like his father that Charles barely suppressed a twinge of pain. _"Safe?" Guiltguiltangermountingrage –_ "Wanda had to hide!"

"It was to protect you!" Beth yelled, her eyes widening as she realized her mistake. "Peter –"

 _A young girl…dark hair spilling over her face as she cried…locked inside of her room. Her eyes, the same as her twin brother's, shifting color depending on the light. Peter soothing her, telling her that she would be able to come out soon as he gave her the food their mother had made…soon, anger, anger only thought to be seen in Erik as now teenage girl shut herself out from the outside world. Books burning, the shelf turning to rust and decay…Finding her gone, searching, searching. Wanda. Wanda. Wanda!  
_

 _WANDA!_

"She had to be locked into her room as soon as she got her powers!" Peter yelled. The lax manner that Charles had previously thought defined Peter was gone. Instead, haunting rage and helplessness with guilt clung to him as he shouted at his shell-shocked mother. "Every other day, then every day as she lost control! It's not her fault that she couldn't control her own powers!"

"She was dangerous to you, Peter!" _Just like your father._ The thought came quick, so quickly that Charles could have pretended that he didn't hear it. It was as if Peter had realized what she was thinking as well and clenched his fist tight enough to make them bleed.

"My powers were safe, weren't they? I could…just run really fast." He bit his lip, and Charles attempted to send peaceful thoughts to the younger mutant but Peter wasn't aware of them. "If I had a different one…maybe if I inherited _his_ powers, would you be afraid of me? Lock me up all day like…my sister who I haven't found since the day she turned fifteen?" There was a slight hesitation in his voice, and hope. Hope so strong Charles almost could feel it against his fingers.

The silence told Peter what he needed to know. He turned, his face white with pain, and Charles closed his eyes and pressured Beth Maximoff to leave. As soon as her footsteps faded into the hallway, Charles whispered, "I'm so sorry, Peter."

Peter turned to him, a faint smile – trying to laugh it off despite the waves of pain that were coming off from him – echoing across his lips as he stared at Charles and then his father.

"He's not going to sleep the day away again, is he?" came the whisper.

Charles didn't know how to answer. Although he couldn't feel Erik's mind, his one true fear was that Erik would no longer wake up. That he would never get to see Erik's eyes again, see the familiar expressions and never get to hear his beautiful laughter again.

"You really think his laugh is beautiful?" Charles flushed as he realized he had been projecting.

"Yes," Charles whispered to the son of his dear friend. "You have his laugh, you know." He felt Peter's shock and something warm enter his mind as his blue eyes stared at the unconscious figure in the bed. _I wish I could have heard his laughter again, during the time we were by each other's side, just once more…_

"Professor!"

Charles was completely motionless as he saw the eyelids start to flicker, his eyes widening as he heard a small noise come from Erik's mouth as his blue – hazy and befuddled with sleep and drugs that had been given to him – eyes opened. Charles opened his mouth to speak, joy surrounding his heart and every fiber of his being as Peter ran out of the room to get Healer. Charles continued to stare at Erik, holding his hand as he opened his mouth to speak the _deafening joy_ he was feeling when Erik tried to struggle.

Joy and apprehension combined as tears slowly ran down Charles' cheeks, gently taking off the oxygen mask to allow Erik to try to speak. His eyes widened in surprise as he gently caught a single tear drop shed from Erik, soaking in the salty wetness.

"Oh, Erik…" Charles breathed. "Erik, you're…"

"Take…them…off…" A rasped voice, desperate and pleading.

Charles' breathing stopped as he watched his old friend's tears trail down his cheeks.

"Erik…?"

"The _machines_ …take…them off…"

A broken sound tore from him, Charles staring in stunned silence as tears continued to coat Erik's face.

"Let me die."


	5. Chapter Four

This chapter is much shorter than what you are used to, but I hope to write a longer chapter next time! Please enjoy.

* * *

 _Chapter Four_

 _"Let me die."_

Healer's blue eyes did not seem to be surprised when Charles hauntingly repeated of what his friend had stated moments before he had fallen back into unconsciousness. Tears had fallen from Erik's eyes, leaking onto the sheets, dampening them as the haunted and broken eyes of his friend echoed into his own. Charles had thought that he knew what fear was like; cold and breath-taking fear that eroded every thought until you could not even understand yourself. But staring into his friend's eyes swollen with tears and desperation Charles had never associated with Erik, the telepath could understand now what fear was. Fear was the fact that Erik had whispered to turn the machines off. Fear was the look of helplessness Erik had given him when he hoarsely stated that he should let the metal-bender die. Erik Lehnsherr was someone who did not give up easily; only insane amount of torture and agony could cause his friend to want to be dead. A cold trickle, almost like water, dropped down Charles' throat as he thought about of how Erik had fallen into unconsciousness shortly after stating those haunted words.

Peter was standing eerily still beside the bald telepath and the younger doctor as they spoke to each other. His eyes were wide, the former joy that his father had woken fading away as he overheard the agonized words from the professor's lips.

Healer sighed, looking over closely both at Charles and Peter before speaking.

"I'm more worried about his psyche than his body at this point." His expression turned slightly grim as he looked at the numbers flashing across the screen. Charles had expected to hear thoughts from the young doctor, but the dark-haired mutant seemed to be blocking Charles' telepathy from him. His expression held a strange heaviness as Jason stared at the prone form of Erik Lehnsherr. The tortured – _tortured_ – man's body was still attached to the oxygen mask, and the three stood motionless as the sound of the machines helping Erik breathe and live even though the metal-bender had said – _No,_ Charles thought with a faint lump in his throat. _Erik…will be fine. He was…just tired._

"What do you mean by psyche?" Charles asked with a polite look at Jason before his face turned toward Erik's motionless form.

Charles winced as he felt the young doctor's slight mockery. A dark eyebrow was raised.

"You tell me, Professor. You're the telepath."

The words were so much like Erik's when Charles had met the dark metal-bender that the telepath had to remind himself that his mind had to completely focused in the present, and not think about the memories that were currently threatening to bombard his mind. _Telepath?_ Charles thought vaguely, Jason's words echoing in his mind as he attempted to grasp of how telepathy could possibly _help_ Erik – His eyes widened at the memory of touching Erik's mind. Cold and empty. Without any whisper of thoughts or feelings. A decade's worth of pain, remembering nothing but screaming, screaming, _pain_ , and – Erik, now sleeping soundly as Charles calmed his mind from yet another horrific nightmare from the camps.

 _"Oh."_ Charles' gasp was almost inaudible. He could feel alarm and feverish thoughts from Peter as his hands – _"Have you ever used your hands other than to write, Charles?"_ – moved over his face, swallowing heavily as his heart beat rapidly against his ribcage. "Oh, Erik…my friend." _Not only is he too weak to walk, but this as well..._ "Post-traumatic stress disorder from severe trauma," the telepath whispered, trying to disperse the feeling of horror and mounting heavy feeling burning hot in his stomach. It couldn't be anger. It couldn't be anger – _Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, otherwise known as the DSM-III properly added PTSD in the year 1980, the definition meaning –_

"Professor." Charles stopped his untangling thoughts, abruptly stopping his memory of reading the definition of _post-traumatic stress disorder_ from the third edition of DSM. _It won't do any good to recite materials that are calculated and distant from actual life, Charles,_ he reminded himself. His widened eyes stared as Jason nodded to him, aware somehow of where his thoughts had headed.

"It isn't uncommon from severe trauma to effect the mind, after what…Erik has been through." Haling words came from his mouth, and Charles could hear the younger mutant's thoughts this time as the doctor stared at his patient – _pain, pain, severe hemothrorax, crushed ribs, second-degree burns across petoralis major and rectus abdominis…screaming, tibia fracture, massive blood loss from deep abdominal wounds, pleading, "Eins, zwei, drei…" Blood-soaked knives and laughter. Pleading. "CHARELS!"_

A rough breath escaped from him as the telepath forcibly pulled himself from Jason's mind. His breathing collected deep within his chest until he finally allowed himself to fully breathe, the lungs exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide slowly as Charles opened his eyes.

"You…can tell all that by looking at him?" He was aware of the disapproval in Jason's expression. Charles himself felt a voice inside of him telling him to _stop, to wait,_ but the images he had just seen would not leave him alone.

"Yes." Jason's voice was distant, as distant as he had been when he had arrived with Erik by his side. The image of Erik, standing with his limbs healthy with flesh and muscle with a faint smile in his eyes was enough to allow Charles to continue even as a small voice inside of him told him to stop. "When I actively observe the body, as in cut it open, I can see the trauma the body and the mind experienced…throughout the lifespan of the patient."

"Tell me what you saw. Please," Charles added when Jason – no, Healer as the doctor stiffened and his eyes darkened – didn't answer. "Tell me what you know so that I can –"

"Knowing isn't all there is, Professor." Jason's voice was outwardly calm despite of the present anger seething inside his mind. "I not only would breach Erik's trust by telling you what he experienced, but I would also breach the trust that you two have."

Shame filled Charles as he realized what he had attempted to do. _What…is wrong with me?_ His hands slightly shook, and the telepath vaguely shuddered at the thought of almost breaking one of his rules of morality. For so many years he had told himself that he would never intrude on a person's knowledge or experiences, except for emergency purposes, and yet…he had almost done that, for wanting to know what exactly happened to Erik.

"I…apologize. You are right." His voice didn't tremble, although the telepath's mind continued to writhe in horror of what his unfiltered desire that had almost overwritten his reason. "Erik would…be furious if I…did that." A small smile echoed across his face at the thought, remembering of how many times Erik had echoed the very sentiment Jason had stated. "Thank you, Healer." Charles' smile faded and a far-away look appeared in his blue depths. "I still cannot hear his mind. Never in my life have I experienced this, and…Erik wanted to _die_ , Healer."

"I know," the dark-haired mutant murmured. His solemn blue eyes seemed to echo in the desperate telepath's. "If I understand correctly, Erik's thoughts have never been empty. Sponge bathing will be the least of our worries," he added with an ironic tone.

"Sponge bathing?" Charles and Jason turned to find Peter looking across at them an uncomprehending expression. "You mean we can't just lift him in the shower?"

Charles could hear the heavily exasperated and annoyed – _hot, pulsing annoyance_ – thoughts of Jason as he stared at the silver-haired mutant.

"You are certainly aware enough that you expected your father to heal a little first before he would go into the shower _unassisted_ , right?" The dripping sarcasm was enough to make Peter wince. "The muscle tone in his arms and legs need heavy rehabilitation. He is too weak to walk, and I suspect it will take a number of weeks before Erik is able to walk again."

"What do you, uh, suggest?" Peter asked. The older mutant almost squirmed at the seething look Jason gave him, and Charles telepathically told Jason to calm himself.

"He needs exercises to strengthen his legs and arms until his body is able to support his weight," Jason stated to both Charles and Peter. His fingers shortly combed through his hair, and his knowing eyes paused at the recognition in the telepath's eyes. As the young doctor explained of what Charles and Peter should observe during the time Erik would be bedridden, the telepath allowed himself to be grateful that he had experience with the treatment that Erik would be getting during the weeks to come. Charles had been told to watch for the signs as well, not limited to bed sores and being turned in a new positon every four hours. The younger man he had been had been stunned by how much care he had to have as he was recovering from the bullet that severed his spinal cord. _Sponge bathing…bed sores…breathing exercises to not develop any respiratory infections…oh, and bedpans._ Even though it had been twenty years ago, Charles still remembered the embarrassment as Hank – dear Hank with his patience and wise understanding as he pretended that nothing was wrong – helped him use the bedpan that he had to use, squirming from the discomfort and trying to pretend that thick, warm tears weren't running down his cheeks as the fecal matter was disposed of. Thankfully there were accessible bathrooms all throughout the mansion, so Charles did not have to use that _device_ again.

Even so, despite the gentle sponge baths that Hank had given him, the understanding at the scientist tried to talk to him in whispers when everyone was asleep in the bloody uncomfortable chairs, as reported by Sean – the pain in agony in Charles' heart was greater. _"I want you by my side."_ Over and over again Charles heard Erik's words. Over and over he thought about how things could have been different, if… _"They were just following orders."_ The sight of Erik's eyes, hardened and unrelenting as the metal-bender stated that he would never again be at the mercy of men following orders. Tears falling down his cheeks as Charles stated that they didn't want the same thing. Of how, a simple difference between being held in two different arms could make. Erik's strangely gentle grip, holding him by his neck and staring into his eyes. His hand across his chest, almost as if...holding someone precious to him.

Even without his helmet, Charles knew that his – that Erik had never meant to hurt him.

Even when choking Moira, her gasps sounding on the beach, the then young telepath could tell that Erik was reacting out of anger, hurt – even though Charles knew it was wrong. _"No, Erik. You did this."_ Charles wondered of how much Erik blamed himself in the months after Cuba. Did he truly believe in what Charles had said? Did he truly forget that Charles was the most forgiving person that Erik had the chance to meet, despite those words?

Charles had only stated those words to stop Erik from killing Moira. And yet, somewhere – almost two weeks after the trial – the anger and rage started to grow. Charles ignored all of the statement he had thought before, yelling to himself that it was _Erik's_ fault; that he had lost his legs, that he had lost so much, and most of all, although the man he had been would die if he admitted it – that he was alone.

The pain of loneliness and loss was enough to make Charles unresponsive to anything during the months he was in the hospital. It was only when he started using his wheelchair that the younger man started to speak and smile again. But it was only a lie. Inside Charles was crying. He hadn't cried this much since he was a child, but he was crying inside to drown the miserable reality that he was in.

And now Erik was in an even worse place. Charles still had his thoughts, and his broken feelings, when he was recovering from his wounds and hearing pitying thoughts everywhere

 _The Prof's just a cripple now, what the fuck are we going to do?_

 _I'll_ kill _the bastard Magneto for making the Professor like this!_

 _Poor man…so young, and handsome too. His children would have been beautiful._

 _Now another leach on the damn system…why don't they just die?_

Now perhaps Charles would have given them his mind if he had been able to. Perhaps he would have told them that people with disabilities were capable of taking care of themselves, and that he was _not_ in a position to be pitied. Charles Xavier was worth more than his two legs. _"Eugenics is a terrible thing to believe in, dear,"_ he would have stated to the young nurse who had thought he and other disabled people were better off dead. However, the now-bald telepath was focusing on his friend. Erik was still breathing. Charles was holding his hand, his focus lost beyond the hours when a flustered Peter and annoyed Jason had left him by his friend's side. _Erik…please. I want to hear your thoughts._

But he understood that it took the mind a very long time to heal. Charles stared at Erik's sleeping face, knowing too well of what trauma did to the mind. The trauma that he experienced…

Tears almost filled in his eyes at the memory of simply seeing a fracture of what Jason had seen.

"Oh, my old friend…what _happened_ to you?"

There was no answer except the beeping of the machines.


	6. Chapter Five

Waring for graphic images of the Holocaust.

* * *

 _Chapter Five_

"Here we are."

The wind was soft, barely brushing against his healed cheek. He could see the faint image of the sun, shining dully beneath the sunglasses that Healer had given him. The young doctor was behind him, resting his hands on the wheelchair as he stared at the scenery around him and not on Erik Lehnsherr.

How long had it been since his skin had felt the rawness of the outside world? The sun, with its faded brightness beneath the shaded lens, was something perhaps he should have smiled at. Erik stared at the dulled scenery around him, his eyes being too weak to take the full sunlight and required to wear the glasses he was wearing now not to overwhelm him. It was now fall. The air was slightly crisp, the leaves of muted red, orange, and yellow peeling against his gaze as they fell onto the ground. He slightly took a breath, feeling perhaps _joy_ when his lungs expanded and without help as the wound on his side had faded to only a faint pink scar that Charles had –

No. Erik Lehnsherr didn't feel joy at the ability breathing. It was relief. It had taken his body a full month to heal – enough that his two feet could support his thin frame, weak with every passing moment despite Healer's blunt approval and of Charles' hopeful eyes. Erik didn't remember telling his friend that he had whispered to him that he wanted to die. He didn't even remember waking for the first time. All he could recall was a faint sense of fear that tightened around his chest until he was unable to breathe, wanting desperately to fight the chains that bound him but _couldn't_ – his body too weak from _Herr Doktor's_ torture and depleted of nutrients his body so needed. His eyes had snapped open with a hoarse shout of butchered Russian not used in thirty-nine years, echoing against his ears as he realized where he was.

Erik was not in Auschwitz bound by chains where the Russians would find him, starving and delirious with pain and whose first action was to kill them. No, instead, the much-older mutant heard a calming voice, _English_ , soothing him with his hands as he stroked the pale face as Erik realized only Charles. At the back of his mind, he could still hear Healer's snappish tone, telling Charles to pull away and take a look at his patient. Those blue eyes that Erik had dreamed of so much, when he was in the blackest of despair and the fury of rage, was the only thing he remembered before he fell into unconsciousness again.

He slept. It seemed one of the only things he could accomplish. Erik had thought that he had never felt so tired – so tired it felt like his body felt boneless, capable of only tremors and faint demands as the now-broken mutant only was lulled into the ever-present sleep. Erik supposed that he was lucky. According to Peter, who was somehow involved in his _recovery,_ Erik had been found almost dead by the X-Men and had woken up after three days in a coma. _"What is it with you and prisons, anyway?"_ Perhaps the silver-haired younger man had suspected a reply, but he did not get one. Instead, there was only silence as Erik blankly stared at the silk curtains, faintly obscuring the late afternoon blue sky and clouds. It was perhaps one of the most venerable since he was a child. Erik had always been aware of his self-sufficiency, and he was certain ten years earlier, he would have been bursting with frustration and rage at of how weak a little torture had made him. _A little?_ a small voice in his head maliciously whispered. _That's not what you thought when s –_ Now he felt nothing. Erik could feel the wind against his head, brushing faintly against his now-downy dark hair. For some reason Peter liked to touch it – his touch gentle and careful, his fingers uncertain as he brushed the dark downy softness. There was something in his eyes that made Erik want to ask what he saw in his mind whenever he visited him. But the faraway look in Peter's eyes that appeared at times made it difficult to speak. The silver-haired mutant was surprisingly mature for his age. Erik remembered of how he had appeared the morning after he had woken up, his hair slightly askew and holding a bowl of soup in his hands awkwardly. The older mutant could remember of how the soup had tasted, watery and all broth, Peter's surprisingly gentle hands stopping whenever Erik needed to stop and swallow.

 _"Only liquids for now,"_ Healer had stated to Erik after he had woken up the second time. The mutant's gaze had slightly wandered to Charles, who was beside the young doctor and was smiling gently at Erik despite the distance. _"Your stomach has been deprived of nutrients, and we don't want to fuck it more than it already is."_ It took two weeks for Healer to concede to something more substantial, such as rice and cut bananas into thin slices. Not once did Peter remark of how he had to help the mutant to sit up and cup the back of his skull gently as he managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of broth. When Erik was able to taste meat – cut into thin slices, Healer's doing – with cooked onion and just a pinch of salt and basil, an urge to cry was almost his undoing as Erik's mind remembered something similar – a faint joy soaking through his broken body at the memory of the _pure_ happiness of soaking a thick piece of bread into his soup, complete with heavenly broth and, oh, carrots and meat with herbs.

He had been thirteen. Although he had not been skeletal and dying with eyes almost poking out of his eye sockets, Erik had known hunger as well. Schmidt had not been kind to him. He never had been. _Nein, das war nicht wahr._ Erik had known starvation. He had known the gnawing hunger and of the how the body died. In the figure, wearing a faded dress with too many bones poking through and the way –

No. He could not think about that.

Charles was kind as well. More than kind. The telepath's hands were gentle as the cloth with warm water washed his body. He never spoke a word as the cloth moved over Erik's wounded flesh, carefully avoiding the chest tube, over his chest and hips. Perhaps it was good that Charles had washed him – sponge bathing, Healer had called it. His friend was gentle, providing modesty when it wasn't needed, and clothing him again, sitting him up with loving patience. _I am right here, my friend._ Erik had stared at him through bleary eyes – back then the effort to sit up multiple times a day and move his body was enough to make him sleep again for a number of hours – and he was aware of Charles being by his side until he fell into unconsciousness. Erik's memories were that of gaining his strength – or what was left of it. He remembered Healer's arms around him as the young doctor held him in the shower, his blue eyes closed to Erik's thoughts as he washed Erik's body with calm assurance. _"You are no weaker than anyone else,"_ Healer had stated as he moved his hand to check Erik's pulse. The mutant was under the assumption that Erik thought of himself was weak, having to depend on others. _"Many others would have died if you were them."_ But what the dark-haired doctor who was leaning slightly against his wheelchair now didn't know was that Erik didn't feel weak.

He didn't truly feel anything except tiredness.

Perhaps Erik should have been grateful that Charles was simply grateful that he was simply happy that his friend was alive that he didn't notice of how Erik felt. No one knew of how he felt. The wind slightly blew against his face again, smooth and healed now, and the once-metal-bender was grateful that no one could hear his thoughts. The truth was, since he had been under the influence under Apocalypse, Erik could feel all the metal around him. When he had first left Charles, Erik had first sat outside of a forest and meditated. The metal-bender could _feel_ each and every metal particle in the earth when he concentrated enough. The metal humming in the earth, and even the metal in his blood – he could feel it _all_. It was beautiful. It was the most peaceful feeling he had felt since the terrible day that he had decided to use his powers to save a life of a worker in that factory and his family had been taken from him.

Or perhaps…his then meditated mind had thought of Charles, of how his old friend seemed to bring out the best in him. Even now, that Erik was now longer able to use his body as he used to and hadn't used his powers that defined who he was, Charles still believed in the light when most people saw none.

It wasn't as if he hadn't been through torture before. There were times when Erik stared at his naked arms when Charles thought he was asleep, silently tracing the numbers on both of his arms. _Take it off._ The thought came suddenly, violently one night. Erik had known it had come from deep inside his mind, unraveling from both of the memories of having his skin pricked with the needle, excruciating pain jolting up and down his arm. _Take it off._ How did he get like this? Not once in his years after the camps did he feel the need to _tear off his arm._ It was strange. The thought had come and gone, and Erik hadn't thought anything similar for the past couple of weeks. Destructive behavior had been ingrained in him since the age of twelve, but self-destructive? That was something Erik hadn't experienced before.

"I want to go back," came Erik's voice. It felt hollow and rasped, but it belonged to him all the same. Inside he felt a sigh of relief as Healer nodded and started to wheel him back into the mansion. Classes were still in session, so they had been alone for a couple of moments. Peter had wanted to come as well, but Healer had told him off. _"There are better things for you to do, I am certain. Go play in the Danger Room."_ What he actually meant was to stop hovering over Erik, the mutant was certain. Only Charles was worse when it came to worrying about Erik. The old friend still visited him every morning, chatting with him even though Erik didn't have much to say. Even when Erik had become healthy enough to walk to his own room without assistance, Charles had insisted that his old friend still sleep in the attached room. Erik had been too tired to argue, and he could almost feel Charles' smile as he wished him to have a good night.

Perhaps Erik had been foolish to believe that his nights wouldn't haunt him. During the month of his recovering with his body as weak as it had been, Erik had dreamt dreamless. There was only darkness, a comforting darkness compared to the nightly horrors he had endured shortly after the camps, one dark-haired Russian shaking him to stop screaming. He had been foolish.

The nightmares started that night.

 _"Move the coin." Erik almost backed away, stunned at the sight of Shaw – no, Herr Doktor, Schmidt staring at him as he raised the gun._ Nein, _Erik thought._ Nein, nicht noch einmal. _His hands shook, trembling so badly that he could barely move and see that he was twelve years old again, afriad and so_ scared _at the sight of Mama with a gun pointed at her head._

Bitte... _The boy had thought then, desperately trying to move the coin, his breathing catching in his thraot as he stared with his wide brown eyes as Mama. Held by two SS officers who he knew – understood very well – could kill her at any moment._ Bitte...! _Erik only knew later that he was pleading for the coin to move, for his strange power to move the metal like he had done when he had been seperated from Mama and Papa. The gate had somehow been half-broken, folding on itself as Erik screamed and screamed as he was pulled away, the mud thick against his thin boots by the two SS men, who kept pulling him away._ "Alles ist gut. Alles ist gut."

 _So many times he had dreamed of this. The memory haunting into his rage-captured mind until he could barely think of anything else but blood._ Rache. Blud. Zorn. _All that there was that made Erik Lehnsherr, Frankenstein's monster._

 _"Mama!" he cried, and this time he truly felt that he was twelve years old, stripped of all the pain and rage and the existence of such a being as him, leaving only pure fear. "Mama!" The German words bubbled at his throat, too fast and tormented for him to follow. He couldn't watch her die._

 _"Papa?"_

 _With a harsh gasp, Erik tore away from the coin and his mouth gaped at the sight of Nina. Dark hair and dark eyes, staring at him. He was older again, as old as he had been when she had been taken from him. Murdered by the humans. She was still wearing the nightgown, missing the blood that had soaked the material that Magda – dear Magda had lovingly sowed. His daughter called him again, her eyes darkening in fear as Erik continued to stare at her. She was alive. She was alive. His_ schatz –

 _"Henryk?" His wife Magda, staring at her husband as his face paled. "Where are we? What…is this place?" Her warm blue eyes searched his. "Henryk?" The name he had gone by for ten years. Living a dream. A dream that he should have known that would end in destruction. His daughter and wife were calling for him, the smirk and joy on Schmidt's face telling as he told Erik to move the coin. Erik couldn't. His mind was unravelling, remembering of how the arrow had flew, both of them dead instantly. A scream that belonged to him. Horror that he never wanted to experience again._ "My babies…my babies…"

 _His breathing continued to decline as the sight of what he was seeing now. Nina and Magda, alive and not bleeding, buried in a ground too deep for anyone to defile them with their disgusting human hands._

"I won't them take you away!"

 _"Papa!"_

 _The scream was cut off as Erik stared in horror as Nina and Magda crumpled to the floor, their bodies the same way as his mother's did, all those years ago. A silent gasping sob forced from his throat, shaking his entire form as his glassy eyes stared at the bloody scene before him._

 _Blood flowing onto the ground. The vision became distorted, turning into his mother's frail corpse with a bullet into her skull as Nina and Magda died with an arrow through their chests._

 _"Nein…bitte…nein."_

 _"You burn everything you touch, Erik." He flinched, thinking it was Schmidt, smiling and crowing at his accomplishments as his wounds across his body bleed. But it wasn't the smiling_ doktor. _No, it was her._ Her. _Erik fought the urge to stay impossibly still as her hands brushed across his cheek. "Why would you think this," gesturing to the bodies of Nina and Magda, "would be any different?"_

 _Erik screamed._

"Erik! Answer me, _please,_ Erik!"

Cold sweat poured over his body as Erik's eyes snapped open. Ragged gasps escaped from his lips, and his chest heaved as he swallowed. Charles was in his sleepwear, his dark blue robe askew as his eyes stared at his friend despite the darkness of the night. Who else would call him by his name in such desperation? Erik didn't look at him as Charles carefully turned the beside lamp on, illuminating the darkened room and still-present heart monitor that Healer insisted on staying there. Charles wheeled forward, his face a mask of concern as Erik continued to breathe deeply, desperately trying to gain the control that was not there.

"Please…" Erik was too shaken to even mask the tremble in his voice. "Leave, Charles."

"You had a nightmare, my friend." Charles' calm voice did nothing to soothe the horrific memories burning in Erik's mind, tightly clutching the sheets with his hands. "I cannot just –"

 _"Verdammt,_ Charles!" He was about to stand if not for the heaviness in his chest. "Leave!"

The words that tore out of his furious expression caused Charles to turn off the light. The abrupt rage of Charles' actions, simply being the mutant he was, turned into a dull ache as Erik leaned on his side and breathed as he heard Charles wheel away. The want to cry out for the only person who could possibly try to understand died on his lips as Erik's thoughts withered to memories of blood and loss.

He was not able to sleep that night.

* * *

"You look like death warmed over."

Jean sighed and brushed her hands through her hair. She tried to pretend that she didn't know that her hands were shaking, and a pulse of irrational anger tore through her skull at the sight of Scott staring at her in concern.

It was true, Jean thought with a slight uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. Her former ginger hair which had been clean was now slightly tangled and was damp with sweat. Dark bags were under her eyes, and Jean pretended not to stare at her classmates during lunchtime when they saw her eating lettuce and carrots with soup instead of meat. She had lost weight, and many others who had been afraid of her were starting to become concerned. _Now I save the world and everyone cares about me. Maybe they're afraid I'll lose control of my powers and I'll singe their hair._

 _If only it was that._

Jean was having dreams that she didn't understand. At first, it was only flashes. Fear and anger and despair. Naked bodies on top of one another. Screams. Then came the smells. The smell of burning flesh, a more sickening smell every time she could scent the morbid ode. At first, Jean had no idea what it was. It was so awful, so…ghastly that she thought that she must be in someone's nightmare, dreaming of something that wasn't real. Then she saw the smoke. Belching clouds that tore away the sky, the ashes of grey and…. She couldn't even _think_ when she saw the skeletal figures moving, too faint more her to make out faces. Jean almost screamed when she understood what the smell was. In her waking world, Jean could no longer stomach meat because the smell of the cooked meat reminded her of dead flesh. _Dead flesh._ The smell of the dead, the burning of the emaciated and children's bodies was enough to make Jean plead for something else. Anything else. She would rather have her own horrific nightmares than experience the nightmare she had experienced every sleeping moment for the past week. The feel of knives on her skin, unbearable pain, a madman's laughter, and a child – _a child_ screaming – often made it hard to not lose control of whatever sanity Jean had left.

"Jean. The professor's just started class."

 _Verbiss dich, arschloch,_ the red-head fumed with abrupt rage.

"Ms. Grey." Jean turned and found the Professor staring at her with an unknown expression. "Come to speak with me after class."

Some in the class starting to whisper and snicker among themselves, _teacher's pet, she never gets in trouble,_ were among the few thoughts that Jean heard before the Professor cleared his throat and began class. It was common for Jean to take notes. Physics was a required subject to become a doctor, a dream that Jean had since eleven years old, but today it seemed that she had lost whatever focus that she had left. The mutant teen was almost grateful when the Professor called her over and ignored every expression aimed at her, including the confused and concerned gaze of Scott.

"That was not a very appropriate thought in your head, Jean. I didn't know you spoke German, but –"

"It wasn't _me_ who thought it," Jean protested as she became aware of what the Professor was talking about. _It was…_ "I don't know what I even said. It just happened." A sudden thought appeared in her mind.

"How did you know what I said was German?"

The bald telepath curiously blushed and coughed slightly before replying, "Sometimes I would catch Erik's thoughts, and unfortunately some of them were less admirable."

"How is he?" Jean immediately asked, almost too quickly. She was surprised at herself for her reaction, as she had not seen or heard from the mutant since he had arrived in Peter's arms. She had known that the Professor was visiting Erik every day, and had only heard vague progress in the very chaotic mind of his wayward son. She could see the Professor smile for a moment at the mention of his friend, and her mind quickly became overwhelmed by the words coming hurriedly from the Professor's mouth, and of a vague sense of sensing the happiness and something deeper in his mind.

"My dreams, Professor." Jean stated. She bit her lip from trying to hold in the horror at her memories, and stared at the telepath with the most serious expression. "What do they mean?"

The Professor didn't say anything for a moment. His blue eyes didn't reveal anything, and he was carefully concealing his thoughts.

"Let me inside your mind," the Professor finally stated. Jean gulped but did as he instructed. She knew that the Professor would be gentle, as he was when he first appeared in her mind, but the teen did not want him to know what she had seen for the past week. He had already been through enough, almost killed by Apocalypse and having to heal Erik. Jean didn't want him to see what she had seen.

For what she had seen was a living nightmare.

The Professor eased through her thoughts, telling Jean telepathically to calm as he managed to see what she had wanted to hide. _Dead bodies…stacked on top of one another…the smell of burning flesh…empty eyes and skeletal figures…red, black, and pink…the colors blurring until they blurred. Always yellow. Always…a star. Screaming. A young voice screaming in German._

 _Dark hair and a small, uncertain smile on the young child's face. Freckles along his nose, his eyes hopeful. Jean put his around ten or nine years old. His clothes didn't look like they belonged to the camps. They were almost new, clean and not yet frayed with a walking skeleton wearing them. Just then, she recoiled from the gasp that sounded in her mind._

 _Professor…?_

"I am so sorry, Jean." The mutant teen touched her face and found that her face was wet with tears. The Professor wasn't crying, but his eyes were drowning in agony. "I'm so very sorry you had to experience someone else's memories."

"Memories?" Jean choked. She felt as if all the air had been pushed out of her lungs. Bile almost rose in her throat. "What…I have been dreaming were memories?"

"Yes." The Professor's voice was heavy and he seemed to look at something only he could see. "Nightmares, specifically." He cleared his throat. "Even though your telepathy is not strong, it is strong enough to experience the same nightmares of someone in deep distress."

Before Jean could speak another word, the Professor told her that he would try to help the person tonight and started to wheel away when a burning question came from Jean.

 _Professor? What is a Sonderkommando?_

* * *

The nightmares were happening again. Charles gritted his teeth at the screams that Erik and Jean were sending to him, unconscious of it despite of the waves of agony that tore through him as he held Erik down as the mutant tried to break free. This was the worst nightmare Erik had so far. Many times Charles had shielded his thoughts from Erik's, knowing of how he had reacted the last time he had attempted to help. But he didn't know that Jean was experiencing the same nightmares as his friend until he had heard felt her mind. Charles had tried to not feel the guilt burning through his stomach as his head swam with agony through Erik's pain, coming in flashes. _Bloodied end points, the thick liquid coming in streams, gasps of agony and crushed lungs…broken bones snapping and feeling the white-hot agony bursting through his body…_

Erik was screaming, his screams loud enough to wake the entire mansion. Fortunately, the children were too afraid to come near. His hands twisted and turned, Charles trying to squeeze his hands in comfort as shaking shook the mutant, half-intelligible shouts in German and Polish. Charles was only able to comprehend a few of the words. _Stop…please…don't…don't, please…_

Charles was at his breaking point when tears started to trail down Erik's cheeks. _Erik,_ he thought desperately, _stop this. This dream isn't real. It isn't real, my friend. Erik!_ Heaving a breath, Charles touched Erik's temple gently. _Erik, it's okay, I'm here –_

Charles gasped in broken fear at the sight before him. There was a woman. She was…standing over him. No, not him. The white-hot pain coursing from multiple stab wounds wasn't his body. He couldn't see her face. She was wearing a mask that covered her entire face, leaving only small holes where her eyes were. They were dark brown and were smiling with joy at the sound of ragged pain that emerged from Erik's lips. Her dark brown hair was as dark as her eyes. _"I'm disappointed. I would have thought you would have been able to take more today."_ Her voice was very quiet, almost inaudible as she reached out and touched Erik's cheek. Charles fought the urge to scream as she whispered into his ear as she began to burn the flesh around his legs.

 _"Char…les…"_

Charles was breathing rapidly, his lungs heaving as they tried to capture oxygen as his eyes snapped open. Hearing his name from Erik's tortured lips…was torture itself. Tears brought pain to his eyes as the telepath thought of what a fool he had been. _He called for me. He called for me, and I didn't hear him. I couldn't find him. Oh, Erik…I'm so sorry._

"Charles?" The name brought back the telepath from his thoughts, and his haunted blue eyes saw that Erik was staring at him, bewildered and almost frightened as the telepath continued to stare at him. "What…are you doing here?"

"I'm staying with you tonight, whether you like it or not."

"Charles –" Erik started to protest, half-attempting to pretend that his limbs weren't shaking.

"No." Charles stared deeply at his friend. "No, you are not." He lifted himself out of his chair and landed beside Erik. He felt his friend stiffen beside him as he moved closer to him. Taking a chance, Charles moved closer to Erik's side until there was only a small space between them. "I'm staying with you tonight," he repeated more softly.

Erik didn't answer him.

"Why?" he asked. His voice sounded broken, more lost than he had been when he had first had the nightmares that took away so much of what had already been taken from him. Charles swallowed. _How can I…?_ He could not truly say what was true in his heart. How could he explain how angry he had been when Apocalypse had taken advantage of Erik's agony and despair of losing his beloved family again, how he had been enraged by the ancient mutant's actions? Hank had stated that Erik caused him to self-destruct, but it wasn't the only effect his old friend had on him.

That whenever Erik hurt, it felt as if he himself was hurting four times the amount.

But instead of saying those words, Charles moved closer to Erik until their noses were almost touching. Erik's deepened breathing echoed in his mind as he stared into his friend's tormented eyes.

"I will keep the nightmares away," he promised. Erik didn't reply, but after a couple of minutes he found that the metal-bender's mind was calming. Charles found himself staring at his friend's face as his body loosened and his breathing deepened. His eyes, looking grey in the moonlight slightly shining in the window, closed.

Erik looked peaceful. Charles had never told him of how peaceful he looked when asleep. The lines of anger, rage, and pain were gone. Replaced by a peaceful expression Charles had wished had framed Erik's face for eternity. Erik should be happy. Charles wanted him to be happy, and that was why he was happy for his friend when he found the former vengeful mutant in rural Poland, holding his infant daughter with a blissful smile as a petite woman stood beside him. Not like this. How sometimes Charles wished he could hold Erik like his, soothe away his pain and agony that still haunted him after almost forty years. _"I…failed you."_

A single tear streaked down Charles' eye. He couldn't protect Erik from his pain. He had said that he would keep his nightmares away…but what he could he truly do for Erik? Charles could not be the balm happiness that Magda had been, or of the sweet love that Nina had been for ten years. _I want you to stop hurting. So that…you would never hurt again. So that…I would get to hear you laugh, as you did before you left and everything fell apart._

 _But you will still hurt, Erik, and I…am so sorry that I could not save you._


	7. Chapter Six

Warning for graphic description of torture and past rape.

* * *

 _Chapter Six_

Neither Erik or Jean had nightmares that night. Charles made certain of it. No longer were their individually beautiful minds haunted and destroyed each night by something that Charles acknowledged as evil. His mutation allowed him access to so many minds, their hurts and joys and fears. It had allowed him to know of that his mother was deathly afraid of loving him, enough that she poisoned herself with alcohol to escape the hell and world in which she had to endure to live. It allowed him to realize that all humans, or mutants when he realized exactly of what he was, had something beautiful in their minds. There was good and lightness in all of them, if someone simply tapped into their innermost thoughts and feelings. _Erik._ Still inside in his mind he could see the younger man he had met, less and more broken than the figure sleeping beside him now, crying as he moved the satellite dish. Even if he touched a thousand more minds, the telepath would never forget the moment he had shared with Erik.

Charles was of many things. Mystique had asked him one time, shortly after Erik had left, how he could remain still so trusting of the world. _"Do you lie awake sometimes, wondering if they will come for you, and your children?"_ The telepath had answered his sister that he believed in people because he believed there was a good part in all of them. But the truth was, Charles had seen the reason behind the majority of all fear Erik stated that humans had for them. _"People will fear what they don't understand, Charles. It starts with as something as human as fear…until it becomes a monster."_ They were afraid of what mutants would do to them, and _their_ children. Charles remembered seeing a memory of Erik as a child. The child with whom he would share such a complex bond with had no idea of what kind of man he would become. Dark hair and brown eyes, with hopeful eyes and _loveMamalovePapawhereareyouIwanttoseeyou…_

That beautiful mind had been destroyed, irreversibly damaged by what had happened to him. Charles might forgive his stepfather for his abuse towards his mother and himself, but he would never forgive Shaw, or of the _system_ that gave birth to the hate and violence, for destroying parts of Erik that were still hurting.

There were times when Erik would shake from his nightmares. Charles would hold him, his arms tight around his friend as the mutant attempted to fight off the nightmares in his mind. It was always, somehow, a more nightmare itself to see Erik's suffering when asleep. The thought of Erik's pain as his body attempted to rest was enough for Charles to stay with Erik even in his nightmares. Which is what he did. Charles was always within his old friend's mind whenever the unspoken horror of the camps or the torture at the hands of the unknown mutant whose hands were always wet with blood and _smiling_ even if he himself wanted to die. Erik's screams of agony and pleads in German and Polish, both as a child and as an adult who had lost his wife Magda and daughter Nina burned in Charles' mind until it was something he could hear in his own dreams. Although Charles had wanted to erase Erik's agony and nightmares, with unfulfilled screams at the back of his throat and crying out, Healer had told him that he thought it was best for Erik to experience nightmares. _"A mind heals better with the memories intact than with no memories at all."_ His blue eyes appeared to bore in Charles' own, and seep into his mind. Almost as if he knew. The telepath had shaken away the thought before it could continue further. _I did for the thought of Erik's well-being;_ Charles had thought to himself late into the night after soothing Erik from another nightmare. It had been the second night, the first of which Charles had held Erik in his arms. _"It's okay, my friend,"_ he had whispered as Erik shuddered and attempted to pull away once he woke. The agony drowning in those eyes, growing with each passing minute, caused Charles to pull Erik into his arms. _"I'm here now, Erik,"_ the bald telepath had whispered as he rested his cheek against Erik's shoulder. _"I'm here. I'm not going to leave."_ The metal-bender hadn't said anything as Chares continued to speak to him in soothing words. Eventually he fell asleep, the sound of his deep breathing and of the heartbeat _– the living_ heartbeat – allowing Charles to fall asleep as well.

Charles had been stunned when he had woken up and Erik was no longer there. In childish panic, he had hurriedly lifted himself into his wheelchair and had barked to Mystique where Erik was. His sister, in the middle of eating breakfast with runny-side eggs, rolled her eyes and told her that Erik was outside. _"He has to be the biggest stubborn idiot, trying to run when he just started healing –"_ The telepath hadn't been able to pay any more attention after those words, and found himself wheeling as fast as he possibly could to the outside of the mansion. _Erik?_ Charles shouted telepathically, trying in vain to hold his panic. _Erik! Where are you?! Raven just told me –!_

"Hey, Prof." Charles' erratic thoughts had stopped at the sight of Peter, who was in running shorts and a t-shirt in mid-September. His silver hair was slightly slick with sweat. "I think we ought to give that one over there a new nickname." His thin finger pointed into the other direction.

Charles stopped himself short from wheeling over as he saw Erik leaning over his waist. He too was wearing running shorts and a t-shirt. The t-shirt, Charles saw, was slick with sweat, and for some reason his throat constricted when Erik suddenly turned. He had looked more _alive_ than he had in ages. His eyes were calm, and his chest was heaving not from a breathtaking nightmare, but from physical exertion. A small smile turned framed his face at the sight of Charles, and Erik lifted himself to his feet and walked – a little unsteadily in his opinion – over to him.

"He decided to go running today," Peter continued, oblivious to the fact that Charles attention was elsewhere. "I don't know why – Healer would likely embed a thousand blades into my body if he found out but, well…"

"I can't heal if I do anything than simple exertion," Erik stated simply. Charles nodded, his gaze looking towards of how alive his friend appeared to seem, with sweat trailing down his face and onto his throat. _I,_ Charles thought as he attempted to not stare, _have never seen something so…_

 _"He_ should be the one to be called Beast, from the way he ran until he collapsed," Peter stated simply, running his hands through his hair. Then he suddenly stopped talking and stared at the telepath, who was observing his friend through a wide smile that suddenly appeared on his face.

"This an excellent development," was the only thing he could think of saying.

A month had passed. Charles opened his sleepy eyes, so unfocused in the early morning, and was pleased to find the room warm and comfortable. It was unfortunate that heaters in the conjoined rooms had no longer been working for ten years. Charles had borne it, although it was hell in the winter months. Many times he had thought about fixing – or more specifically, Hank trying to fix the heater – but Charles always ended up distracted and forgot about the heater by the time winter was over.

 _So warm…_ Charles thought. For a moment, he wanted to burrow under the covers like a child and not the professor of Xavier's School For Gifted Youngsters. His eyes closed shut for a moment, peacefulness entrapping him in its embrace until he heard something.

It was a sleepy voice. Charles' heart jumped at the sound of the groggy German echoing in the room, and turned slowly on his side. Erik was holding him. Their limbs had gotten entangled with one another, with Erik's legs entangled with Charles'. His head was lying across Charles' shoulder, his hands placed a couple inches from the telepath's neck. His breathing was deep and calm, enough for Charles to deduce that his friend was still asleep. Instead of feeling embarrassed, as he would in a compromising situation, Charles' mind filled with affection.

 _Erik…you look so peaceful._ His friend's face was calm and still as he was asleep. Charles' smiled, and almost reached to smooth the short hair growing on Erik's scalp before stopping himself. _I shouldn't wake him. Not when he is like this._ It had been a peaceful night. Somehow even without any nightmares, Charles had held Erik in his sleep. And his friend didn't let go. No, more than that. He was embracing him as well.

Charles' eased his mind and was pleased to find Erik dreaming peacefully. Ever so carefully, the telepath made allowed himself to fall in Erik's mind.

When memories were faint, there were foggy or had a faint white wisp over them. Charles could still remember being in Erik's mind for the first time, the memories crisp and clear as if the decades of time had not occurred. There was so much pain. So much anger that Charles had winced. He had seen what had happened to the mutant named Erik Lehnsherr. Being told to do something that no young child should do, and a precious life paid for it. How alone he was. How he believed, that there was no one like him. Charles had seen his memories, flashes or full images, of all of blood and hate and screams. Not one of happiness or love. _"There is so much more to you than you know."_ Charles hadn't known why Erik had discarded all the happy memories he must have had as a child, of the love that his mother and father had for him. The thought belonged, he realized now, to an arrogant mind who had not yet experienced the defining pain of _love_ to understand what if meant to lose something more precious than your own existence.

When Erik had left him – yes, he had said that they did not agree had allowed him to go – but that was the most painful. Erik had left him. Had left him and had taken away his sister. The absence of Erik was almost as if Charles had been shot in the heart, leaving nothing of the tender organ behind. How naïve and cruel he had been to his own mother when he only thought of how it damaged _his_ life and _his_ love for her that she was an alcoholic and paid no attention to him. _"Oh, of how the tables had turned,"_ Charles had laughed to himself after an extreme case of euphoria of taking-who-knows-drug. It had never hurt to live as much as it did then. Losing a person who he had loved and taken in as a sister, and a single being who changed his world, _changed_ him, was enough to make Charles wonder why he still breathed.

It was the serum that saved his life. If he had taken the drug, Charles would have taken his own life. Nothing could stop the pain. Not the drugs. Nor the alcohol. Nor teaching. It was easier later to turn it off. Turn off his telepathy. Having the other voices of his own mind, their own pain and agony haunting him, was enough to make him remind him of his own.

He buried the love he had for Erik deep inside of him, so deep not even it could be reached by even the strange time-traveler Logan who apparently was sent back in time to stop the war that would end the mutant race. Even when _enraged_ at the mention of _him,_ Charles could still not acknowledge the memories he had with Erik. He knew that he had lied when the broken man he had been had said _"You said "Go fuck yourself.'"_ Perhaps the kind Logan had forgotten about the encounter, or maybe he had simply not mentioned the fact that there had been two people, not one, who had tried to recruit a cigar-smoking mutant in Canada.

When he had seen Erik again, Charles had punched him. He had knocked him over, filled with the self-righteous rage and hurt that he felt he deserved. It took him many late nights to acknowledged that he, Charles Xavier, was at fault as well. He had allowed Raven to feel ashamed of her own skin, making her hide and feel ashamed whenever she revealed her true self. Charles had thought he understood Erik. He thought their understanding and respect of each other was enough. He had thought, that Erik would be the better man. And…

Charles Francis Xavier had never known Erik Magnus Lehnsherr's agony of his wounds until he had experienced the agony of living when feeling more alive than dead. Charles suspected that if Erik did not have vengeance to sustain him, the rage and violence that he thought defined him, perhaps Erik would not exist. And when Erik left Washington D.C., Charles had realized that a world without Erik was not a world at all.

It was a memory bathed in light. Love was seeping from Erik's mind, and Charles felt warm hands holding his small body. A lullaby was in his ears. _Beautiful,_ the telepath thought, _the words, even though I cannot understand them, are pure love._ Charles thought perhaps that Erik was being held by his mother, but the hands were too small and gentle to belong to a grown woman. He looked up, and stared at the gentle face. She had long dark hair. Freshly-ironed clothes covered her, and her blue eyes… _Erik,_ Charles thought immediately when he stared into her eyes. They were exactly the same shade and shape. The girl, around seven or eight years old, continued to sing. Her hands were stroking his face, with so much love.

 _Erik-lin…_ Even in the memory, Charles could hear her thoughts. _Mein Erik-lin…_

Suddenly, the memory cracked. The girl's face, whoever she was, was split into two like glass. A vivid crack appeared, and suddenly it was dark.

Someone was screaming.

Someone was dying.

The child's cries became a man's, crying out for someone to hear.

 _Charles! Charles!_ A gasping sound, a sickening crack as numbers were counted. White-hot pain pouring through his body. Charles couldn't pass out. He couldn't fall unconscious. He could only hear the numbers in his mind, as vague as they were like a faraway nightmare.

 _CHARLES!_

The telepath had never felt as terrified as he had then, hearing and feeling his friend's pain but not able to know where he was. Soon all he could feel was pulsing agony. Pain _became_ who he was _too much toomuchtoomuch –_

 _"ERIK!"_ Charles shouted. He dragged himself forward, almost howling from the amount of pain. _"ERIK!"_ He didn't know where he was. He had to find Erik. He had to find –

Erik was still. He was alone. His eyes were open, alive, but there was nothing in them. _"Please…"_ His body was at an unnatural angle, half of his entire body limp and… _"Make it stop…please…"_

Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Thick and leaking from his eyes, Charles stared at the horrifying nightmare of Erik's broken body.

 _"Kill me."_

"Erik…?"

Charles' voice rasped, like a dying creature's. He could not stop the trembling in his voice. He was aware of his heartbeat echoing too fast against his chest, but Charles didn't care. His only focus was on Erik. At the sound of his name, the mutant whom had been sleeping peacefully before was now looking at his friend through haunted eyes. Raw grief shone through the pained blue depths, and Erik bowed his head.

"I'm sorry. I... You shouldn't have seen that, Charles."

"Erik…" Charles tried.

 _"Nein,"_ Erik said. A glazed look appeared in his eyes. He started speaking feverishly, his thoughts and words mincing together. The words were lost to him, but Charles understood. Slowly, the telepath breathed and lied his forehead against Erik's.

For a moment, Charles just breathed as Erik's thoughts muddled and then started to calm. The feel of Erik's skin across his own felt good, even more as Charles felt the nightmare slowly becoming less painful.

"Tell me," Charles whispered. "Tell me what happened, Erik."

Erik swallowed. For a moment, he couldn't speak, and his breathing started to unravel until Charles pressed his forehead closer.

"I don't know…what day it was. I saw her, coming in. Usually she doesn't…didn't…speak, but that day…" Erik gritted his teeth and Charles told himself to calm at the sight of Erik's pain. It was agony for him to form the words. "She decided…to break my bones." Erik's voice rasped, a mere whisper as images flashed through Charles' mind. _A smile on her face…talking happily…bones snapping…screaming…so much screaming…_ "All one hundred for of them, she said."

Charles' mind recoiled in horror at the memory of reading the "record" of Erik's torture. He fought the urge to vomit, and instead focused on his friend, who was attempting to speak of the horror he had relived.

"I…perhaps I could have understood if given a reason _why_ I was tortured." His voice sounded detached, as if too much pain of the memory removed him of the agony of what had happened. "But…they gave me none. They shaved my hair, stripped me…and tortured me every day." Charles held his hand. Squeezed it. But it had no effect. "Seeing the memories of the camps…Mama's death…and the agony as they almost killed me…so many times was enough for me to almost go insane."

"Then, one day…she came again. My… _torturer."_ Wearing a white mask stained with blood. Hands, slim and long like they belonged to a musician but whose nails were stained with dried blood. Plain clothes, of medium height, infected laughter that echoed across the barren torture cell as Erik's screams and pleads echoed in her mind. The other, a tall male, standing over Erik, his hand over his face, talking to the female and smiling. _"Destroy…his mind…"_ Scalpels and knives…an older man, the feel of his touch healing the wounds across Erik's body. His brown eyes blank and dead to the world. The smile of the woman...

"She didn't…just break half of all my bones…I was…made to count by sevens in Polish…to make it so that I could not faint and deprive her of pleasure."

"Erik." Charles heaved a breath and touched Erik's face with his hand. His hand trembled, and he was certain that whatever was leaking out of his eyes were tears as he stared at his friend's empty expression. "Erik, you don't…have to speak –"

"And when I started to scream, or pronounced the number wrong…" Erik's voice was empty and his voice faraway. "She broke another bone. I was only kept in sanity by the numbers…but she broke so many."

"How…?" Charles rasped. "How many, Erik?" He fought the urge to sob.

"One hundred seventy-three."

The agony. White-hot, pulsing, never-ending agony, begging to for anything, begging to die, begging for _Herr Doktor_ to –

Charles' tears stopped. His face paled, and his mouth opened to a soundless cry as he stared at the emptiness in Erik's eyes.

"Yes, Charles. It is true."

 _"Why?"_ Charles cried. He was aware of his agony pulsing in waves, and his hands clenching the sheets painfully. _"Why? Erik –! "_

"Power," Erik intoned as Charles continued to sob. "It is one of the reasons for it, is it not?" A long sigh came from him, and he stared at the sobbing telepath with saddened eyes. "I had…begged him to stop his experiments. Anything, I begged him. I would work in the camps. Anything other than this pain, this fear that I felt every time he wanted to see my power."

 _"Anything?" The doctor was slightly smiling. Staring at the boy who was struggling not to cry. The child – the beautiful Erik Lehnsherr, nodded, hoping that he would work, that anything would be better than torture and experimentation by the doctor would be better than anything._

 _Then his hopeful eyes faded as the doctor came closer to him. "Doktor?" His voice faltered, sharply turning into pleas when the doctor suddenly placed his hand on his thigh. "Doktor, was...machen...? Stoppen!" The sound of screams and pleads. Coming on deaf ears. Clothes being torn off before his eyes. Shaking, being told to not scream, fear,_ deathly _fear, pain –_

"He raped you," Charles whispered with rage coiling in his stomach. "He raped you, Erik." Rage increased, a half-scream in his mind as he stared at the empty gaze of his friend. "Erik –!"

"They had already taken who I was, Charles. They took…everything." Now Erik breathed, and his forehead rested against Charles' chest. "Everything. And…it made my rage grow stronger Charles, what had been done to my body…having Shaw do what he did. My powers grew stronger because of it, and Shaw…I don't know why…but as I screamed…"

 _Erik…_ Charles breathlessly thought. _Erik… Oh, my Erik…_

"…I wanted anyone to save me. I wanted you to save me, Charles, but you never came."

Now, Erik looked up and his tears spilled as he stared at a crying Charles Xavier.

"Why didn't you save me? I _begged_ for you…for _you_ , and you didn't come."

"There are…no words that I can say…that can tell you why, my dear friend," Charles whispered. _I'm…I'm…_ "No words that can express how horrified and aggrieved at your agony, your despair you suffered at the hands of those I am ashamed to known as our kind. I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I'm so sorry."

Erik's face crumbled. He started to cry, tears sliding onto his cheeks until sobs forced from his throat. Charles held him. He held Erik as violent sobs came from him, his entire body shaking as his body _poured_ out the entire agony his body and heart and mind had suffered throughout all this time.

 _"You deserve this, you know. For all that you had done." Her_ voice echoed in Charles' mind, in Erik's mind. Burning. Destroying all that was good. _"It is like what the doctor said."_

 _"You. Are. Nothing. But. Anger. And Pain."_

 _"Destruction. Tragedy. That was why your family died. All that you touch,_ dies, _because you exist. That…is what is you thought when Apocalypse came, and_ he _reminded you of what you truly are."_

 _"You should have died in the camps, Erik Lehnsherr."_

"Erik." Charles called. "Erik." The man known once as Magneto looked at him. Looking at him through stunned eyes as Charles called out to him, ever so softly. His hands gently cupped Erik's face, smoothing over his skin and looking soulfully into Erik's beautiful, agonized eyes.

"Listen to me." His forehead touched Erik's, and he breathed softly so that Erik's breathing matched his own. "Listen to me. Erik. My dear Erik." The other's face that looked back at him was stunned. "You…of all people…did not deserve what happened to you. _None_ of it, my dear Erik." Charles swallowed, moving his thoughts forward to Erik's beautiful laughter. "Erik, mistakes have been made but those do not make of who we are. This," Charles stated, touching Erik's forearms with his fingers with a loving feather-like touch, "is not your shame. You surviving when so many did not, including your family, is not your shame, nor are your choices."

"Erik…" Charles breathed. His thoughts calmed, a calm gentleness overtook him as Erik stared at him, tears running down his face, but agony slowly receding as Charles whispered.

"You are you because you are Erik Lehnsherr."

"Why…do you always, always, believe in me, Charles?" A rasped sob came from Erik, and his heart-broken gaze tore through Charles' bleeding soul at the sight. He wanted… But the words wouldn't come. They wouldn't come, as they were logged in his throat.

"Because there is goodness in you," came the whisper.

Softly, Charles whispered the words over and over again, telling him that it wasn't his shame, that he didn't deserve the torture that had been done to him, that there was goodness in him.

He started to hum at first, his hands touching Erik's hair softly, gently as the thoughts started to calm and the heartbeat slowed.

Then, a soft singing emerged from him. He didn't know where it came from. Charles had never sung before, not even when Raven was frightened by a nightmare and her parents were trying to kill her. Charles had no idea what he was singing until he remembered the glowing memory.

He was singing the same song of Erik's childhood.

 _"Liebeling…"_ Erik murmured. Charles smiled through half-lidded eyes as the love projecting from Erik enveloped him. He didn't know why. But carefully, Charles leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on Erik's forehead. His swollen blue eyes stared at the sleeping man in his arms.

Charles closed his eyes and for a moment and instructed to Hank that all classes would be cancelled for today.

He would be spending the entire day by Erik's side.


	8. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven  
_

Jean Grey continued to remember the smoke stacks that clouded her memories. The plumes of smoke and ash, seeping bone shards that appeared to engulf her sense of touch. _"Professor, what is Sonderkammando?"_ The red-haired teen was shocked to find that the professor would not answer her. It astounded her; the Professor would always answer questions regardless of the context. She remembered of how his mind remained closed to her as his blue eyes appeared to be in the distant past. The German words that had bombarded Jean's mind with their hardness, desperation, and cruelty faded from her mind as her nights were no longer haunted by nightmares. The adolescent telepath swallowed, her fists clenching despite of how calm she seemed to the outside. She didn't know how, but the memories of the Holocaust would not allow live her life in peace. Perhaps it was because a living and breathing person had those memories. Shards of the living hell still haunted Jean. _How can he live?_ Not once, but many times did Jean realize that there was a lot that the students, herself included, did not understand about Erik. She didn't know of how Erik could live with the living nightmare he had somehow survived, of the memories of a terrible mutant named Schmidt experimenting on his power; touching dead bodies, their skeletons protruding against their skin, and –

 _Stop._ Jean heaved a breath and forced herself to remind herself where she was. _My name is Jean Gray. I am in a New York library, and_ safe. She could hear her faint breath among the books, and as a distraction listed the titles in her head. _No one is going to hurt me. I am safe._

"Jean?" The red-haired teen almost jumped at Scott's touch. She turned and found his red-tinted glasses staring at her in concern. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah." Jean cleared her throat and gave him a silent nod for thanks as she moved closer to look at the books again.

"I knew this was a bad idea," the brown-haired mutant teen said under his breath.

Jean sharply turned toward him, "I _need_ to understand, Scott." Her abrupt anger towards his words faded as she saw his concerned and exasperated expression. "I need to understand what I saw."

" _Fraulein_ Grey…" Jean inwardly sighed as she heard the ever-present reluctant tone in Kurt's voice. Scott was not the only one with reservations about coming to the library to look for books about the Holocaust. "Would it not be best…to ask for _Herr_ Lehnsherr's…help?" Kurt finished feebly, and the three winced at thee implication. "I mean to say," Kurt corrected hurriedly, "that it would save time –"

"I don't think Magneto would actually talk to her about the Holocaust," Scott said with a raised eyebrow. "He's not exactly a sociable person."

"It would make him go back too square one, too." Scott, Jean, and Kurt looked in astonishment as Peter held three slim books over his head and carelessly leaned over another bookshelf. "Say, don't _you_ know anything about the Holocaust?" The silver-haired mutant asked Kurt suddenly. "You're German, so this must be old knowledge to you."

For a moment it looked like Kurt was about to flee. The blue teen licked his lips uncertainly, and spoke slowly. "We…don't talk about it very much. And given of…what I am, they didn't teach me very much beyond primary school. So I think…you three know more than I do."

Peter shrugged, "Nothing more than the gas chambers and the cattle cars."

"Is that all that there is?" Jean asked incredulously as Peter held out the books so she could see them. "These are children's books!"

"There's really nothing much about where Dad's camp is either," Peter muttered his breath as Scott glanced at him sharply. Although Erik had been living at the mansion now for about two months, the said mutant was still uncomfortable that the metal-bender was staying. _He's not an enemy anymore,_ Jean thought as she remembered of how she shared his memories. Now however, her gaze lingered on a title from a slim-bound book. Jean reached carefully and took the light novel in her hands. _"Night,"_ she whispered. A black cover with white stripes starting on the end with the author's name in the same script as the title. _Elie Wiesel._

She could see Kurt staring at the book curiously, and saw that there was a frayed edition in German as well. Jean took both of them, and ignored the frowning stare of the librarian as the four books were checked out. The crunch of the fallen leaves soaked with rain echoed in her ears. For some reason, the one sound seemed to be impossibly loud. Perhaps now Jean could get answers to what she was seeing; perhaps, if she read the meager books she had gotten about the subject, she could _understand_. The others took notice of Jean's silence and didn't say anything to relieve it. Jean was surprised that Peter wasn't "running ahead" or talking, but she saw a pensive expression on his face that she saw more often than not. Jean's thoughts deepened as to why both she and Peter did not talk to Erik. Although the mutant was quiet, his broken-self had started to heal under the Professor's gentle care. Hank had said that all classes were cancelled for today, so something must have happened. And so Jean had decided that they should go to the library and look for books on what she had seen in Erik's memories. If anything, Jean thought that the mutant would be happy to know that he had a son; the horror that he experienced was enough for Jean to think that. But perhaps her silence, and Peter's, was a base instinct.

Fear. Fear of the unknown.

She didn't know of how Erik would react. A part of her did not want to know who or what the _Sonderkammndo_ were, but she had to rest her mind even though it could transform into another nightmare.

* * *

" _Danke, mein ferund."_ Erik softly smiled at the image of confusion Charles was giving him. His hair was slightly askew and wet with the tears that Erik had shed. The dark-haired mutant found that he was not ashamed of his tears. Instead, his heart warmed at the memory of the words the telepath had spoken to him. _I never thought you could outdo yourself Charles, with your talk of genetics and beautiful mutations. But you did._

"You said…" There was a crease in Charles' forehead, and it was as the twenty years had not happened and Erik had said something incredibly thoughtless or callous, or both. In his mind, the dark-haired mutant could see the younger Charles Xavier. With luscious dark hair and clear blue eyes that know nothing of the pain and despair that Erik would cause him. The voice that haunted him, even within the dark hours of the Pentagon and the Polish countryside. _Am I…?_

"When I moved the satellite, you said that there was more to me than pain and anger." Erik said those words carefully, measuring them as he saw Charles' eyes widen in recognition. He moved his hands from Charles' shoulders to his lap and continued speaking in a monotone voice. "I can still remember every moment of that day twenty years later."

"I as well," Charles whispered. Erik gazed at his expression, and found both pain and joy in them. "For me, it remains to be one of my most precious memories." _Why?_ Erik wondered, his mouth turning into a frim line at the thought. _He's had a happier…beginning than mine, and –_

 _No, that is not true, my friend._

Charles was sadly smiling at him.

 _Remember my favorite tree? You said I was a nostalgic person, and I suppose it is so._ His blue eyes gently lifted to meet Erik's through their telepathic connection. _My father once took me to the tree and read to me when I was a toddler. Shortly after his death, my mother became an alcoholic and was unable to healthily grieve the loss of…her partner. I would often hide there whenever I could, trying to create memories that I could not remember._

Guilt immediately assaulted Erik as he remembered thinking many times of Charles' pampered and soft childhood. _Charles –_ he tried to say.

A gentle touch of forgiveness framed the mutant's mind as the telepath soothed his feelings. _You did not know. Nor did Raven, really. By the time I had found her stealing food, my mother was already remarried. To a man named Kurt Marko, who abused her and I with his son Cain._

Hot white-anger surfaced at the mention of anyone who had hurt Charles as a child. Erik gritted his teeth as his hands clenched in an attempt to control the anger he was feeling. It did not work.

 _I know I appear to be in control of my mutation, Erik, but there was a time in which I thought I was going insane. I was nine when my mutation manifested, and I didn't understand the voices in my mind._ The calm voice was beginning to soothe Erik despite his anger over Charles' stepfather and stepbrother, family that was supposed to protect him but had done the opposite. _We are more alike than you know. I thought I was going insane, with all the voices and feelings I felt._

 _At twelve, I understood I was hearing other people's thoughts. It seemed that as soon as I understood this, my mutation became stronger. Strong enough to…_

Charles stilled. His eyes closed as if in pain, and Erik, almost without thinking, grasped his smaller hand in his own. After a couple of moments, the telepath calmed and didn't remove his hand as he began to speak haltingly.

"I was sixteen, almost ready to leave for Oxford when Kurt suddenly stumbled. …He did not want me to leave him, to relinquish his property…and began to shout. He…beat me. I do not know when it stopped. I just…" Charles halted, and stared at Erik's knowing expression. He did not tell his friend to continue. Erik knew better than that. Only when someone was ready would they allow their horrid thoughts and actions to be exposed. Erik knew what Charles was going to say before he said it. The metal-bender knew that Charles had killed his tormenting stepfather with his telepathy. "I just wanted him to stop hitting me," the horror-stricken telepath stated as if he was sixteen years old again. "I didn't mean to kill him."

"He deserved it." Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Erik spoke without restraint. "He was your tormentor, Charles, and got what he deserved." The scar of Shaw and of the wounds the mutant posing as a Nazi doctor echoed in his mind as Erik's blue-green eyes stared into the pained depths of his the slightly trembling mutant before him. The metal-bender sighed and knew that the concept of vengeance and retaliation would not work with Charles. Despite knowing the agony and horror that Erik had suffered under Shaw, the telepath had stated that killing him would not bring him peace. _"Listen very carefully to me, my friend."_ Again, he saw the knowing eyes of Charles Xavier and his beautiful blue and pure depths. _"Killing Shaw will not bring you peace."_ And yet, Erik did not call Charles a hypocrite as some less observant mutants would. He was…

Erik paused in his thinking, knowing the words in his mind but unable to say them.

His hands went around Charles' waist, pulling him closer as they lied on the bed together. Charles' head rested against his sternum, and Erik could still feel his friend shaking. It was – no, it was a fact that his old friend had never told anyone that he, who believed in humans and mutants coexisting, and was a beautiful fool with his ideals and dreams, that his hands were stained with old blood. Erik could only think of saying this to him.

 _"Alles ist gut,"_ The German words came softly from his mouth, a small sob brushing against his throat as he spoke his own mother's last words to Charles. _"Alles ist gut…"_ How did Charles have this effect on him? To open his heart when no one could? Not even Magda knew about how his mother died. His wife had not demanded anything of him. She knew of who he was, and the vague details of what he experienced. Magda, with her beautiful dark hair and blue eyes that pieced Erik's soul, had not asked him for anything in return when she married him. She did not know of how he had hunted Nazis from the time he was a teen until he had met a man named Charles Xavier. She did not ask of why he wanted a new life, away from the bloodshed and ideal that he pursued. Magda, who had died and then whose body had been found among the ash of death of the home they had made together, rotting away, did not allow his memories of his former life to have another meaning besides sadness. Even when singing the song that his parents and…she had sung to him, there was an aura of grief behind it.

Nina didn't know of how hard it was for her father to sing the same words that he first remembered hearing. Erik remembered the memory, warm and held tight to the gentle hands that held his very small body, singing sweetly. He could feel the cotton material of her dress, and the fragrance of herbs and soap surrounded him. The soft and high voice that echoed in his dreams, a dream that he thought of now as Erik held Charles in his arms. And now there would never be another chance to sing the lullaby, for Nina was dead. Her mother, who he had loved, was dead. Charles had told him of how the X-Men had found Magda and Nina tied to a tree, exposed to be eaten and devoured as his house was completely burned. _"I'm so sorry, Erik. You have lost so much, and…I'm sorry that we could not stop this."_ Somehow the words had no effect on his traumatized state. It seemed that the words should have been said to Henryk, who was lost in the sea of rage and despair. It had seemed that at the time when Erik had joined Apocalypse, all that remained of him was rage and agony. All he ever knew was violence and death. It had taken his parents, his _family,_ and had almost destroyed his relationship with Charles.

Erik had thought there was no good in him.

" _Alles ist gut…liebeling."_

"What does that mean?" Erik's thoughts were broken as Charles asked him what the whispered, almost caressed word meant. His body was no longer shaking, and Erik found it hard to look into his eyes as a lump built in his throat.

His lips caressed his upper lip for a moment as Erik thought back to the moment Mystique had told him that he hadn't lost everything. _I cried at the thought of you._ The memory of the satellite. Charles' voice, smooth and calm as he cried from Erik's joy at a precious memory reclaimed to him. _Not even my family made me think of the man they believed I was._ He was aware of nothing but his emotions, caged inside him for the past twenty years, came free. Erik was thinking those thoughts, allowing Charles to hear them. For a moment, a pulse of fear surged inside of him until he told himself that it was okay. _I lived your way for ten years, and I could only think of the words that said to me on that day in October twenty years ago. I wonder why that is now even though…I know._

 _If a single person is a world…then you are the savior of that world, Charles._ Erik searched Charles' eyes, and could find wonder and shock in his eyes.

 _Mein…licht…_

"I realized," Charles stated thickly as his eyes began to drown in unshed tears, "when you left Washington that there was no world without you, Erik. I was so alone before you came, living only a half-existence before I pulled you out of the water. It was not only your world that changed." Charles swallowed as tears began to trail down his cheeks. "Mine as well changed. Irreversibly."

"Why didn't you speak to me, at that time?" The confusion still haunted him at times, even though twenty years had passed since those days and nights in the Xavier mansion. Erik remembered with clarity of how he had been a fugitive, running from a government that would likely kill him for committing a crime that he did not commit. There was only one place where the metal-bender could think of going. The snow was melting on his hair when the oak door to the Xavier mansion opened, and stood a shocked wheel-chair bound Charles.

Pain was conveyed in his old friend's expression. Charles seemed to be hesitant to speak, but Erik's clear blue eyes bored in his own as if conveying his personal memories of during the time his younger self had taken refuge in Charles' childhood home, from the FBI hunting him for the assassination of the president.

"It was too painful, Erik." Every crack of agony could be heard, and the dark-haired mutant allowed his old friend to use his fingers to stroke Erik's face. "You, being there was too painful. It reminded me of so many things. I…was not angry with you then. But I _hurt_ so much."

"And it tore a hole in me when you decided to turn yourself in."

"I had to," Erik whispered. He was aware of Charles nodding, of his fingers continuously to gently stroke his face as if he was a lover. _I had to keep you safe._

"I mourned you…as if I would a lover."

Erik's heart stilled. Charles was crying still, his tears falling from his eyes, but to Erik, he was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. He could feel Charles' emotion; he was bare, exposed. Nothing was hidden. _Love._ The thoughts, the memories burned almost white-hot against his mind as Erik saw himself through Charles' eyes.

 _I'm sorry._ Erik had no idea why Charles was thinking this. He took Charles' hand from his face and held it to his heart. Those blue eyes never left him.

 _Liebeling…means darling, Charles._ His eyes went to Charles' lips, his face, and his nose. _I…had a long time to think in the Pentagon, and it was there that I realized that I was in love with you._ Charles' face moved closer to his own. Their breathing slowly became in sync. _I remember how shocked I was when you broke me out of the Pentagon, and…_

" _I never want to get inside that head again!"_

 _I'm sorry,_ Charles mouthed. He looked crestfallen at his words that he had stated years ago, but Erik stilled his thoughts as the mutant put his hand across Charles' cheek gently.

 _We both hurt each other, Charles. I thought that it would be best if I left your side, to spare you more pain. I found of life which was an idyll façade, a dream that shattered the moment Apocalypse came. I thought that I had lost all the good inside of me._

 _But…the thought of you…_

"Erik…" Charles murmured. Their foreheads were touching, and soon they were close enough that Erik could count every one of Charles' freckles. Erik leaned forward and was about to press his lips to Charles' when –

"Uh, if you're about to kiss, I can just, um…leave."

Erik's head snapped to see Peter Maximoff struggling to control his staring as his eyes looked toward them. The irritation that Charles projected was enough to make both Erik and Peter wince, and no one spoke for a moment.

"I mean, if you guys are going to kiss and then…get all…everything, the door is just –"

"Peter." Erik stated through gritted teeth at the rambling silver-haired mutant. "Why are you here?"

It seemed that whatever Peter was going to say, he had forgotten it. His eyes widened, and the younger mutant gaped at the two metal-bender and the telepath before taking a deep breath and speaking strangely haltingly.

"So, remember when you got crazy for the second time and you had all the metal around you like 'round the garden like a teddy bear, and you asked me why I was there?"

"Yes," Erik replied. "You said that you were there for family, as well."

Peter swallowed. "Well…you see, I _was_ there for family." There was a pause. "I'm your son."


	9. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

 _"I'm your son."_ The uttered words echoed in Erik's mind. They refused to dissipate, and Erik remembered of how his very heart had clenched at the words. It was painful. The metal-bender closed his eyes as he sat beside the lake. Although he attempted to reign in his thoughts, it was in vain. The dark-haired mutant could still see the boy – Quicksilver, or Peter as Charles called him – try to maintain his composure as his eyes went back and forth across the room to his father after moments of silence.

Father. The one word could mean so much to one person. To Erik, the meaning was precious and held dearly to his heart. The mutant could still remember his façade of a life as he lived a life of a human – when Magda had told him that he was going to be a father, the joy that supplemented every kick and touch his child had given to him as she was yet to be born, and holding such a precious life in his arms. In Erik's hand was a gold locket, worn by the same bright child that he had buried. A picture of his own father lied inside the locket. The face that stared back at him seemed so different from the hazy memories of his childhood. His father's and his mother's faces were unsmiling. As if they already knew what was to come in the years ahead, that they would be treated lower the dirt and slaughtered with their names taken from them. _"What happened to your parents?"_ There were so many times when Henryk could have told his wife and daughter the truth. He could have told them that they had died with so many of his people – _their_ people, with no graves to mark the fact that they had lived. Henyrk, being the peaceful and unassuming man that he was, had told his Nina that the memories of their life lived on his heart. That was what Charles would have said. The uttered sentences the then-thick brown haired mutant with bright eyes had said so many things that his best friend had done his best to understand. He eventually believed in everything that Charles had said. The personification of Henyrk, with his goodness and being the better man, having been found out as a mutant because he _helped_ a coworker, died the day when Magda and Nina died.

The blood of those throats he had slit on the locket after directly causing the deaths of his family had been in his possession for a long time. Erik had kept it close, hidden inside the uniform Apocalypse had given him, and had not washed off the blood even when humanity's first mutant was destroyed. When he was still weak, Erik was shocked to find the locket near his bedside. It was clean, void of the dried rusted blood and time. The golden color was framed by the sunlight faintly shining in the window. His withered hand had trembled as his fingers barely touched the thin chain, seeing the golden locket as it lied in his hand. A ragged breath, abruptly tore from Erik's gasping mouth, and he tried to shield the half-formed memories in his mind.

An image of a young girl in a dark blue dress. She had a basket in her hand, humming softly as she toyed with her dark brown hair, long and beautiful and reaching to her shoulders. It was in the countryside, where the grass would grow long and the sun would almost always be warm. Fruit would often grow on the trees, although she scolded Erik to not eat them. A soft and fond smile would grow on her face whenever she leaned her face towards his and picked him up. The squeals of happiness burned in Erik's mind as he remembered the brief idyllic peace his child self had. Remembering the joyful shrieks and laughter as she, with her beautiful bright eyes and kind face, spun him around and around. There, after gently stopping and allowing him to walk on his own, sunlight would catch on the locket she had worn. It was given to her on her birthday, with the soft promise of summer. He always remembered the locket though, which always remained around her neck. Erik paused to breathe and clenched the same locket around his hand. Never did he think that he would find the locket that had belonged to a face that he had sworn that he would forever forget, in a market in rural Poland. Erik had only meant to find the locket. The rational and unsentimental part in Erik didn't understand why he was searching for something that he had vowed no longer belonged to him. Nothing belonged to him because everything had been taken from him.

The more sentimental and _human_ part of his mind was unraveling, because he had lost his way – fleeing from the very people he wanted to protect, and not knowing of what direction his so-called life was leading. Erik had thought, too quickly, too sentimentally, that perhaps if he had found the locket and had gazed at the small black and white photos of his mother's and father's faces, then he would know what to do. The metal-bender had been stunned to find the same locket, with slight scratches due to passage of time, in a produce market. It was on the neck of some woman Erik had immediately identified as a vulture – someone who stole something important to the six million of his people who will never know of how their possessions were being mistreated. Rage had begun to surge inside his heart as the coarse woman demanded of why he was glaring at her so with so much reproach, and began to shake as the blond-haired woman insisted that this locket belonged to her mother, that it had been passed down in her family for generations. Erik had wondered how far he would be able to flee if he murdered this human right now – it would be too long to choke her, although body warmed at the thought of getting rid of this disgusting human, when a voice spoke.

A younger woman, perhaps five years younger, spoke to the bulging-eyed blond-haired woman, and told her that if this man wanted this locket, and said it belonged to him, why would he lie? Erik had almost lost his breath at the sight of her – dark hair flowing around her shoulders, and similar bright blue eyes. He was vaguely aware of the human handing the locket to him, cool on his palm as her glare went through his gaze as Erik continued to stare at…R –

No. The moment she spoke, Erik knew that it wasn't her ghost that had helped him regain to what had belonged to her. Her smile was light, and her voice was slightly higher. Her hair too was softer, and her eyes did not recognize him.

Still, he had to ask the name of the young human who looked so very much like his older sister.

 _"Magda,"_ she had replied.

"So, you wanted to see me?"

Erik's eyes snapped open as he turned to find Peter standing behind him. He saw that the boy was not standing close to him, a few feet away. His eyes were slightly titled toward the sky, and the younger mutant seemed to be at loss for words.

"I thought it would be better if we talked in private," Erik stated clearly, although inwardly his heart was thundering inside his rib cage as the unspoken tension continued.

"Outside isn't exactly private," Peter stated with a slight snort. The snow started to pile in soft flakes in his hair, and the older mutant sighed.

"I am not ashamed of you." This time Peter looked at him, and Erik was stunned by the amount of different emotions in his eyes – relief with happiness and sorrow with confusion. "If that is what you think, then…you do not know me." Erik paused and spoke after a couple of moments of delayed words that he had wanted to say but had yet to say them. "If I was ashamed of you, I would have told you."

"Thanks…I guess."

 _This…is proving more difficult than I thought,_ Erik thought as his hands clenched around the locket in his hand. His blue eyes stared at Peter, observing him. The boy, although he was over thirty years old, looked a decade younger. Erik did not know very much about his grown son, but from the memory of his escape from the Pentagon, he surmised that Peter was not very much like him. He had a sense of humor from how he had interacted with Erik, and for a moment, a jolt of agony went through his veins. If the young boy had grown up, Erik believed that he and Peter would look alike. They had the same young face and the same inquisitive expression.

"Would you have stayed if you had known?"

"I…" Erik thought of the young man he had been then. So full of anger, more than when he and Charles had first met. There was nothing that he would not do to hunt down and kill the people who slaughtered his own. _"See what you did, Erik?"_ Schmidt's low, so soft voice burned in his mind as he heard pleads and animalistic noise from the pigs who he slaughtered. _"See what you did, my sweet boy? You're a monster."_ How many times did he see life's blood flow their wounds? Their pathetic eyes, staring up at him, a head torn from their shoulders, or crap and piss leaking down their trousers and onto the ground? Erik had first directly killed a Nazi when he was thirteen. The man was more than twice his size, and stronger. The scrawny boy he had been had almost died as he was pushed against a dirt-smeared wall and kicked and punched by his would-be victim. Only his mutation had saved him. The knife had soared and pressed into the flesh near the chest cavity, stunned silence coming from Erik as he realized that his power had saved him again. Only this time, it was not the threat of agony, more agony than he could handle, or rape, or…of the memory of the burning flesh and skeletal bodies being picked up. No.

It was pure fear that he allowed him to kill.

Not only just anger and pain.

Erik remembered of the Nazi had stared up at him in shock, fear coloring his pale face as he realized that he was bleeding too much and he would die. There was a question in those pleading green eyes. _What are you?_ Erik didn't know. Schmidt seemed to enjoy watching him struggle and writhe in fear and every ounce of pain during every experimentation. He never explained why he was interested in a twelve-year old boy, and why he wanted him to move things made metal. Even when he was thirty years old, and his hands were stained with more blood than he could remember, his face no longer the young boy who pleaded with _Herr Doktor_ to stop and sobbing as his torturer raped him, Erik thought he was alone. He had given up on his humanity, his religion. Mama and Papa would be very disappointed if they knew that their grown, scarred son gave up on the traditions and love from their God that had been passed down in their family since Germany had existed. Erik only spoke when needed to, which was not often. The Nazi-hunter only spoke to those who needed to be reminded that their sins would never be undone. Their screams and their blood, and tears followed Erik when he slept – when he did not sleep, the teen would always levitate the coin, swirling it around his arm where his name had been taken from him.

Erik would remember of the human's fear once they figured out what he could do – again, those eyes. They were the same eyes that he had seen aimed at him, blinded by what they would never understand. Fear, again. Screaming for him to die as he killed them before he had the chance to tell them that he had already died long ago. Perhaps a part of the child still remained within him, despite the dark blood that now bathed his hands, the screams that he relished to hear, the pleads, the coin and Schmidt. Perhaps he was hoping for a new life that the Russians had told him that he could have. The boy he had been had muttered in improving Slavic that he didn't have anything to live for. Erik had heard about America. A land of tolerance and peace. But as he had said to Charles, there was no peace anywhere. Cold fury had erupted inside of him when the _immigration_ officer tried to humiliate him and the other humans with German last names. _"Nazis,"_ he whispered. It was only the presence of the other people around him that Erik did not kill him. The scar on his arm appeared to burn, as if seven years had not passed from the time the needle had been stuck in his arm and had written the numbers that would remain forever. The nineteen-year old would remember of looking across New York City, horror filling through him at the images of homelessness and destitute people.

Of men being beaten by the police, blood running down their faces from smashed beer bottles and being pissed on. Of the loved one holding onto him, begging him to open his eyes, the others watching through hooded eyes as Erik watched from the shadows.

The only thing missing was the fact they did not have numbers on their arms, or wore pink triangles. They were always the first ones to die. The first ones to get beaten up by the guards.

Erik didn't know why he was angry over what he had seen. They were different from him, without the power he had, and would have killed him if they had been their German counterparts. But yet… Schmidt had made him watch as those wearing pink triangles were killed after…the boy had pleaded for anything but experimentation. The guards didn't care if they killed _them._ Erik still remembered the screams at night, He remembered of how Schmidt had asked if he _liked_ what had been done to him. _"Your own people hate them."_ The doctor had leaned down and gently cupped Erik's cheek. _"What would they say – Mama – say if they all found out that you are not only a Jew, but a homosexual as well, Erik?"_ The teen remembered the faint brush of the doctor's lips across his own trembling and weak ones. Since the camps, he hadn't truly thought about the prisoners who wore pink triangles – they were all nameless and bound to death, like all of them. He didn't truly know if he was like that.

The child in Erik Lehnsherr was naïve enough to believe that he would be able to find happiness and peace. The memory of Beth in his arms, of finding her and staring at her sleeping face as she slept shattered when he revealed of what he was.

 _"Get out!"_ Her eyes widened impossibly wide with fear. _"Get out, get out! You monster!"_

"I would not have stayed," Erik stated at last. He did not know how long the pause was, but he was aware of Peter's eyes boring into his own, blameless. "I am sorry," the older mutant whispered to his son. "I was a man consumed by rage and pain, only focusing on the revenge I sought."

Erik turned away and stared at the lake. The water was almost black, rising and rippling across the surface as the wind made its song. He took a breath, wondering somehow of how he had gained a child after losing another.

"I suppose your mother did not mention me as you grew up," Erik stated to Peter. His eyes hardened at the sight of Peter licking his lips and clearing his throat before speaking.

"She actually called you a monster." A carefree smile attempted to reach across the silver-haired mutant's lips, but it faltered into a pained thin line. "And well…even though you've done some messed up things, it doesn't –"

"I will spare you the lie, Peter," Erik said. The boy's eyes widened, and the older mutant felt his son hearing his every word. "I made of who I am, and what I am is a monster. I once called myself Frankenstein's monster, and that is true. It is kinder that you grew up without a father in your life than having to understand the reasons why I do."

"But I do!" Peter protested. There was an earnest feeling drowning in his light eyes, and a young face from the faded past emerged in Erik's mind. "I want to know why you do what you do, and I want to know…well, everything! I spent these past two months with you, and I…" The mutant gritted his teeth and spoke clearly, emotion overriding the fear in his mind that the boy must have felt.

"You're not a bad guy!" Erik stilled. "You just had some really bad stuff happen to you, and I'm pretty certain that I would have gone crazy too if that happened to me! You just need to confess to the Professor, and then everything will be fine!"

"Do you think," Erik intoned, a cold feeling running through his limbs as he stared at the stupidly naïve boy, "that this _pain_ would go away…like a wound? Like your broken leg?" His breathing quickened, and his eyes darkened slightly as flashes from the camps, from his _life_ , flashed through his mind. "Do you think it is as simple as that, Peter?" He didn't notice that he had said the German way of pronouncing the name, or of his son's widening eyes as he realized he had made a very big mistake. "Do you think that you can just _erase_ everything, and it will all go away? My family died, Peter! _Your_ family!" The golden locket was swirling around him, almost as if a golden halo was revolving. The memories, half-buried, became clear. His father telling him that it would be alright. _"It won't get worse, Erik."_ How much Jakob Lehnsherr reminded Erik of Charles. His father was a peaceful man who often smiled and hated violence despite receiving an Iron Cross in the war. Sometimes, when everyone thought that Erik was asleep, he would hear his father's sobs by the candlelight, soothed by his mother as she held him. _"I can still see them, Edie."_ A gasp tore from his lips as Erik's child ears heard his father sobbing. _"I can still see their bodies, bloated and smelling death as flies hoarded over them. It feels…as if I'm still there,_ burying _them, dumping them into mass graves and I can only see their eyes staring at me."_ Erik had half-heard his mother soothing him, the chair creaking and hearing the sobs that didn't seem to die. _"Erik…why did you die? Why…are you still dead?"_ At first, the child had thought he had meant him and recoiled in horror. But then he remembered his father telling him at a very young age that he had been named after a very special friend who was now gone. Jakob Lehnsherr touched the soft skin of his son's cheek. _"He was my best friend, and I think you'll be a good man too."_

As he grew older, Erik learned his father had been drafted into the war and had fought in Ypres. No matter how hard he tried, his father would never explain to him what happened. It was only when Erik was about to kill did he hear about the place again. Slaughter. Death. Mass graves. So many of the Germans had died, and his father had been one of those survivors that had carried bodies and dumped them into mass graves. Erik was so sickened by the thought that his father, who had survived that hell only to die in another, was survived by a Nazi that he had cracked the skull and watched in detached fascination as liquid and brain streamed from the ears. Erik had learned from his uncle Henrik that his father had saved the life of his commanding officer under enemy fire and was awarded the iron cross. The younger brother of Jakob Lehnsherr stared at the seven-year old boy, smiling as he ruffled Erik's hair and told him he should help his mother with dinner. The loving uncle who seemed almost like a brother Erik never had, showering him with praise at every good mark he had gotten in school, at everything he did, and listening to the sounds of music from the house they lived in. With the same dark hair and eyes that changed depending on the color of the light. The easy smiles that now framed Peter's face. The memory of how his uncle teased his older brother as they worked, silver chains gleaming with tools surrounding them. And of his son. A young boy with blond hair and brown eyes. _Levi._ He had been too young to know that his father had been beaten by his so-called countrymen for his "impure" relation to his wife, a kind young nurse named Gretel. But Erik remembered. She was always so nice. Even though they came from different worlds, even with his naive child thoughts, Erik knew that his uncle Henrik and aunt Gretel loved each other very much, always laughing and speaking with smiles and whispers.

Erik remembered of how his uncle always told him stories, ancient tales of history or the Grimm fairy tales. His mother wouldn't approve of how he told her young son the gory horror of the fairy tales, but then Henrik Lehnsherr was a realist. He always told his brother when he thought that Erik was not there that they should flee. _"Look at what they're doing, Jakob! Can't you see? Every day is worse, and soon –!"_ Erik remembered the night when she died. The entire world seemed to stop as sunken figure stopped breathing. The cold tomato juice was still leaking on her lips, and the voice that Erik loved so much would never speak again. He remembered of how his mother cried as she held the body to her chest, shaking as his father's face began white as snow. Erik didn't know why his _shwester_ wasn't waking up, even though in his heart, he knew.

He had seen it all before.

The ten -year old boy was pulled aside by his uncle and held. The solemn look in his uncle's eyes was what he remembered, and the almost plead that escaped from him when he told the boy to never forget what happened. _"Don't let this happen again. Please, Erik."_ His father and uncle had fought then, German mixing with Polish as his mother shouted for them to stop. _Resistance. War. Camp. Starvation._ Those were the words that Erik had heard among many. _"After the war, did you stop fighting for what was right, Jakob?"_ The hard in his uncle's voice, a stranger to Erik's ears as he heard the impossible.

" _I would rather live as a coward if it means my only living son lives!"_

The blurred image of Henrik Lehnsherr's death, shots fired, and the bodies falling into the abyss of death. Of the death of Greta, holding the young Levi in her arms. The young boy hadn't even been eight years old.

"I failed to protect them!" His mother, baking bread and the precious memory of the torah and lighting the candles. The sweet soprano that filled his ears as she sung him to sleep, and the gentle hands that put a cool washcloth on his forehead when he was sick. "Never again, I said! Never again would anyone die as I have seen thousands die like the way they did again!" She was five years older than him. Erik's first memory was of her voice, singing to him as she held in her arms. Singing the lullaby that their mother had first sung to her. She had stated that she had loved him from the moment he was born. The dream – no, memory warmed the coldness inside Erik as he remembered sitting in his older sister's lap and playing with her hair as she sang to him. _"Erik-lin…"_ Her bigger hand in his as she walked him to school for the first time. The smile always on her lips as she played her cello. The memory of being spun around in her arms, gleeful laughter easing from his mouth as a beautiful smile framed her face. And…

Ruth had died when she was fifteen. She had weakly protested against Erik's wish to keep her locket. _"You need food, Erik. You and everyone else."_ Her face was gaunt and shadows framed her eyes. Erik looked at his beloved older sister, wishing feverishly that the locket could buy them food – more food, and he wouldn't get shot or beaten half-to-death like other children. The locket that came from her father had been sold for food. Ruth had given her younger brother her food when the ghetto slowly began to starve. She was a person more precious than his own life, and yet he could not prevent her death. Erik had run to get more food, to stop his sister from what he feared.

He still remembered not acknowledging her death. Pressing the tomato against her pale lips until juice ran from it. His uncle had pulled him away, telling him that Ruth was gone.

Erik had fought to forget the memories. There was nothing left but agony and blood, death and sorrow after the camps were liberated. He…the least worthy…out of all…had lived. His family had died. Why not Levi? Why not the child who had barely lived, whose face Erik could see staring back at him now?

How long had it been since he had fully remembered his sister? With her name, half-forgotten among the decades he had wanted to forget, echoing in his mind? The very memory of her death was pure agony.

Not because her life was more important than any of the others.

It was the fact that that was the moment when Erik had realized later that he was helpless. He was helpless to protect someone that he wanted to protect. His mother. His father. His uncle. His aunt. His baby cousin. Magda. Nina.

Ruth.

Erik couldn't protect anyone.

"But you love the Professor."

It was a half-uttered question, timid almost as Peter stared at his father.

The locket slowly tilted and stopped spinning. The words halted Erik's regret-bathed memories, halted them until he remembered.

" _There is so much more to you. Not just pain and anger."_ The memory of Charles voicing his love for him, for _believing_ in him, creating a soothing balm in Erik's mind. The face that stared back at him was twenty years younger, but no less beautiful. The memory of crying with him as Charles allowed him to remember a precious piece of his fractured life, laughter coming from his lips. The same memory moving Erik to remember that there was still goodness in him – not even the memories of his family could do that. It was always Charles. The man who changed his world. The memory of Charles holding him as he sobbed, clutching to him like a child. _"This is not your shame."_ Waking to find the mutant watching him by his bedside during his recovery, when he could barely walk. The feel of his gentle hands across Erik's waist as he and Healer set him onto a stool. Charles seemed unconcerned with their nudity as he slowly began washing the older mutant, soap and warm water seeping through the cloth as they sat with steam around the bathroom. Erik was very weak then. Both physically and mentally. But Charles…was lovingly gentle.

The memories of ten years ago, twenty years ago framed in his mind. Erik remembered lying across from Charles, telling him he realized that he had loved him during his imprisonment.

Erik would never tell him of how his heart had shuddered to a stop when the broken and bitter man who had been his best friend and the man he loved told him that he never wanted to get inside his head again. It was one of the worst things a telepath could say to a person. _Monster._ The voices echoed inside Erik's head as he stared at Charles' angry eyes. _Monster._ It hurt. It was agony to know that Charles no longer wanted…to have what they had, before. The truth had almost slipped out when he and Charles had fought on the plane. The words that he had said echoed in his mind. Charles, eyes bright and optimistic, had told him that he believed that all humans and mutants lived to be happy. Erik had stared at his friend in exasperation. But, it was true, wasn't it? Charles turned out to be right about most of what he thought. Erik, deep in his heart, longed for happiness. The closest thing to happiness he had after Cuba had been Charles. The idyll peace he had with Magda and Nina had mistakenly been what he believed was happiness. But he had hidden. So many truths were left unsaid, and he lived a life that he knew that would end in tragedy. He had lived in a way that his former self would have mocked.

Erik had said that Charles was his light. The man who he loved was able to bathe him in the belief that he was good, that there wasn't just anger – there was more to Magneto than hatred and fear. There was happiness. There was hope. There were memories that were seeping at the cracks, painful and something that Erik wanted to forget…but could not heal the adhesions.

" _Ja, ich liebe_ Charles."

The words were in German. But Peter seemed to know the meaning anyway.

"Does that scare you?"

Erik didn't answer. He didn't want to, because otherwise…he would say, yes, it scared him.

Charles…what if he became only a memory, someone that Erik couldn't protect, just as he had almost done?


	10. Author's Note

My dear readership,

I am sorry. As you have known I did not update the eighth chapter for three months. I have not been myself since September, and I find that I can no longer update this story of mine, _Adhesions of Sentiment_. I have been trying to reinvent myself – from being told in my final year studying Japanese that no matter how hard I study, I wouldn't understand what was being taught. Japan and Japanese was my first love. Hearing those words was like a death blow. Personal situations, such as death and taking care of family member with chronic pain, have taken their toll – the story that I have written, with sadness written with every word, is too close to how I feel now. I am very sorry, for I cannot tell you how surprised and happy I was with every review, favorite, and follow I had gotten since August. It is with a great heart that I tell you that is put up for adoption.

It is not my wish for this story to simply fade away – although it might. If anyone is interested in continuing this story, the individual may PM me and we can talk about it further. Please tell people about this story if you so wish – perhaps one of them would be interested in continuing _Adhesions of Sentiment._

 _全てをできてくださってありがとうございました。_

Thank you very much for all that you have done.

Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora


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